


like flowers blooming in a lonely field

by chxrryclem



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Akuma Attack, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Luka Couffaine, Bisexual Marinette Dupain-Cheng, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Luka and Marinette are bisexuals I didn't make the rules, Original Character(s), Pining, a disclaimer: i do not know anything about music, my girlfriend helped me with the music stuff, their sexualities are not the point of the fic!, typical teenagers doing dumb teenager things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chxrryclem/pseuds/chxrryclem
Summary: There are petals in his mouth, soft and delicate in ways that love always is.(Or, in which Luka Couffaine coughs up petals while falling in love more and more.)
Relationships: Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 16
Kudos: 80





	like flowers blooming in a lonely field

  
  


The disease was called Hanahaki. 

The first case was a young woman in Japan. She started throwing up poppy seeds profusely when she was resting at home. No specialist could figure out why this happened to her; only that poppy seeds were somehow growing, _germinating_ inside of her stomach. A month later, the stomach aches that resulted from the seeds grew into constant nausea. The woman then started throwing up soft, red poppy petals drenched in bile and spit. 

It didn’t take long for her to throw up entire poppy flowers. She died soon after, with her head bowed over the toilet and flowers clinging to her lips.

No medical organization could really clarify _why_ it came around the way it did, nor how someone could get infected. But doctors have come forward. Therapists. Patients. Recovered victims. Victims’ families. And it always, always had the same conclusion. The disease came from a love that wasn’t returned. A rejection, a heartbreak. That was all it took. The seeds, possibly representing your loved one, grow and germinate inside your stomach, and eventually stems and leaves curl around the lungs and heart. Flower petals become almost like tissue lining. And then you _die_. All because you never got the love you wanted.

Luka laughed when he heard about it, thinking it was one big joke. But as the cases increased, and people began to panic over loving someone, he began to worry, too. It was like some sort of stupid tragedy come to life. An unrequited love causing you to die? Yeah, right. 

The disease was almost poetic, in a sick, cruel way. It almost seemed as if you’d find it in some obscure poetry book that you’d see in some small bookstore. With blood and flower buds clinging to your throat, petals stuck to the roof of your mouth–it was a poet’s dream come true. And maybe the recovery from such a disease, maybe that could be beautiful. 

But when Luka saw the pink and white petals swirling around on the water tauntingly, he couldn’t help but feel pity for himself. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Luka!”

He heard her before he saw her. The chime of her heartsong rang clear in his ears, soft arpeggios in pianissimo, as if fingers danced a ballet over a G major. It coaxed him into a lazy, gentle sensation, a smile cracking across his face. 

Luka turned and saw Marinette waving her hand, walking at a quick but leisurely pace towards him. She was wearing a pink floral dress with black doll shoes. Her dark hair was shaped into twin buns. She carried a black leather shoulder bag which, knowing her, probably held her sketchbook.

As she came closer, he noticed the flyaway strands of hair pulled by humidity and the flush to her cheeks from the sweltering heat. (She looked beautiful, but god forbid he voice these thoughts out loud.)

“Ma-Ma-Marinette, fancy seeing you here,” he said. He felt his smile become more dopey when Marinette’s eyes squinted with happiness. Distantly, he could hear Juleka’s soft teasing about _ew, you have a crush_ , even though she was nowhere to be found. 

A shy smile graced her (pretty) lips, and the sight of it made his heart beat a little faster. “I was just on my way to grab some breakfast! I’d eat at the bakery but…” She shrugged. “Just wanted a change of scenery. Creativity doesn’t bode well in the same environment over and over again, after all!”

Luka hummed in understanding. Sometimes the environment at home can get repetitive. The sharp smell of the Seine filling his senses, the gentle water rocking the boat, and the heat beating on his back–all were permanently ingrained in his memory. Most of the time, it was relaxing. But with the sun shining high in the sky and the crystal blue overhead, it was almost a shame if he didn’t go out somewhere other than his home.

In the spur-of-the-moment type bravery, Luka asked, “Mind if I join?”

Marinette’s smile grew wider as she nodded. It was so bright, it almost blinded him. Her pretty pink lips stretched across her face with her cute teeth showing. Who thinks teeth are cute? _Luka,_ apparently. 

“I was thinking of the café on the corner, because their pancakes are so good! You can get strawberries or blueberries or powdered sugar or whatever you want! And the place is so cute and tucked away, you know? B-but if you don’t want to eat there that’s okay! We can totally choose somewhere else since you’re joining me I don’t want to disappoint you and-“

Luka patted her shoulder, looking down at her and smiling in an effort to calm down her nervous rambling. He noticed that she rambled a lot of the time, which wasn’t a bad thing. Her words, a lot of the time, tripped up over themselves, as if her mind worked too fast for her words to catch up. It probably did, with the way that she threw out idea after idea for designs. And yet, the nervous rambling was what reminded him of their first meeting, so he loved it with every bone in his body. 

Marinette took a deep breath and steadied herself, her cheeks flushing even more. _Cute_ , he thought to himself, and he felt the smile on his lips grow a little softer, a little more loving. He always did that when he was around her, and he was sure that if he actually wanted to stop it, he _couldn’t_. He was constantly endeared by her, so sue him. 

“I’m fine with wherever you want to eat, Marinette. After all, I kind of just crashed your solo café outing.” 

The café in question really was a tiny little spot, called _Café de Fleur._ He could see why Marinette would’ve wanted to go here, as it was filled with quiet, unassuming people. It seemed like her crowd. The customers, seated in black booths to the left of the café, talked quietly over cream cups and plates of breakfast food. To the right, there was a glass display of food as well as the paying counter. The display was filled with baked goods, scones and canelés and madeleines and so much more. Definitely salivating worthy, but, honestly, none of it looked as appetizing as Tom’s and Sabine’s. But hey, he wasn’t the one to criticize _food_.

Luka pulled out his black leather wallet from his back pocket, having already decided to pay from the get-go. “Go on, Mari. This one’s on me.” He gestured to the chalkboard menu hanging up on the white wall, written eloquently with careful, still hands. Marinette huffed indignantly, but her eyes crinkled as she fought back a smile. 

“I’m only saying fine because I have a feeling you’ll be stubborn about it. Next time though, I’ll pay, and nothing will stop me!”

They ordered their food: a stack of fluffy pancakes with blueberries for the lovely lady, and one pain au chocolat for Luka. They found themselves in the corner, where a pink neon sign that said _Je T’aime_ hung on the white wall. The sign was framed by rows of fake flowers, champagne pink kissing the wall. 

At the sight of the flowers, he hesitated. Darkness creeped into his vision, and spots danced all around. He felt light headed and exhausted all of a sudden, so he grabbed the edge of the table to brace himself.

“Luka? Are you okay?” Marinette stared at him, concerned. His stomach lurched, and he felt the color drain from his face as a wave of sickness bombarded all of his senses. It was so overwhelming that he was sure he was going to pass out. It felt like a stomach bug. However, just as quickly it came, it disappeared, subsiding with a burning hiss in his body. 

He took a deep breath.

“Sorry. I just, ah, I just felt really sick for a second there. Probably my, uh, anemia or something,” Luka guessed, but even he wasn’t too sure about it. She gazed at him with an ever increasing amount of worry, but all he could offer was a reassuring smile. He grabbed her wrist, looking at her square in the eyes. 

“I promise.”

And with those words, Marinette seemed to relax a little bit, and they both slid into the booth. 

_That was awful,_ he thought to himself. What the fuck was that? He had never felt that kind of pain before, like his stomach was trying to claw its way out of his body. He pressed the back of his palm to his head, feeling that he was warm, but it was the typical warmth one would expect. No fever. Maybe it _was_ a stomach bug?

Luka shrugged off the thoughts and tried to focus on Marinette, who still seemed to be worried. Concern creased her mouth into a thin line, and her eyebrows were knitted together. 

He took a deep breath, and tried to steady his breathing before opening his eyes.

“So you said something about creativity earlier. What’s on your mind?”

Marinette jumped, startled as if she forgot he was there. And honestly, she probably did. Probably was thinking about a million things a minute. But she responded enthusiastically. 

“Well, there’s this fashion week coming up, and all of these renowned designers and models are going. A bunch of rookie designers, like me, were also personally invited to gain exposure and maybe even clientele. Our clothes won’t be shown on the runway, obviously, but it’s the after party that's important.”

She shuffled around in her black leather bag, before pulling out her pink sketchbook. She flipped through some pages, and Luka’s eyes caught onto some designs. For a brief second he saw Kitty Section’s masks, and he noted it with a fond smile. He loved those masks with all his heart. Other designs were dresses and skirts, along with t-shirts and whatnot. They were too fast for him to scrutinize, but he knew that they were amazing. 

Marinette wordlessly turned her sketchbook around once she found what she was looking for. It was a drawing of a disassembled outfit, with several measurements and notes everywhere. One part was a skirt, with an arrow saying ‘Pinafore’ on it. It was shaded in, with the skirt hugging the drawn model’s waist. It had suspenders attached to it, with two roses messily scratched into them. The shirt, on the other hand, was a simple white button up, but had frills extending out from the placket as well as the cuffs. The collar had similar flowers drawn on, with a side note of ‘Signature? Flowers?’. Together, it seemed like a professional yet classy outfit.

“It’s my rough draft,” Marinette said shyly. “I don’t know if I’ll like it. It’s for me to wear, you know? I need to wear something nice, but because the after party is directly after the show, it can’t be something so bold that it attracts attention away from the models. Am I making sense?”

Luka nodded, but really he was just stuck in a puddle of being impressed by Marinette. She seemed to have a lot of skills locked under key. He knew that designing was her passion but _damn_. It just seemed mind-boggling that a teenager like her would be designing clothes like that. 

He decided to speak up, finally. “It’s… incredible Marinette. I think it’s professional, but really classy. I think if you’re making first impressions, this is one hell of a good way to do it.”

The bluenette smiled proudly, confidence instilling in her eyes. And god, what a beautiful thing to see on her. 

Suddenly, a café worker brought their food over, along with an iced coffee for Marinette. The stack of pancakes was steaming, giving off a warm aroma of powdered sugar and blueberries. Luka’s own food looked delicious, flaky and buttery all the same. 

He smelled the food, and then suddenly he felt as if he was going to throw up. The stench of the food fueled his sentence, and his stomach turned upside down.

“Hey Marinette? I’m going to use the bathroom real quick. I’ll be right back.” Marinette made a soft hum in agreement, setting down her fork and knife, but he reached over and put the silverware back into her hands. “I didn’t mean not eat, silly. You’re hungry. I’ll be back soon.” 

With that said, Luka rushed to the bathroom, nearly tripping over his third invisible foot. He was pleasantly surprised that no one was in there, but he had no time to marvel over the empty bathroom. Instead, he locked the door and crouched down near the toilet, pulling back his hair and leaning over the toilet water. 

The aches that fueled his every sense reminded him of when he would get bouts of sea sickness when he was younger. He was born and raised on the Liberty, but the rocking of the sea sometimes got too much, especially as a kid. No amount of ginger cubes or ginger ale would help him. But the only way for the sickness to go away would be when his mom would comb her fingers through his hair and whisper stories about pirates at sea. Recalling it now, it almost sang to him a soft melody of happiness to him, but he groaned as quietly as he could once the stomach aches returned back to him. 

Maman wasn’t here now. There would be no princesses becoming pirates and falling in love with other princesses. There would be no gentle soothing words. It was just him alone in the bathroom, hunched over a public toilet which probably had seen more horrors than he could count. 

Luka’s eyes widened in horror when he felt the strongest pain he had ever felt in his life stab into his whole body. His bones screamed for help, and every single one of his organs were twisting in pain. He felt the blood rush to his head, and spots danced along his vision. And before he could stop it, the acrid taste of bile stung his throat. He threw up, solid chunks of _something_ sliding out from his mouth. There was a _plop-plop-plop_ , until he dry heaved with nothing more to give. 

Someone or something laughed mockingly as he gazed hard at the contents. _What the fuck is that?_

The contents consisted of what looked like brown seeds floating in the water. When the fuck had he eaten _seeds_? He tried recalling what he had eaten today, but now it was his mind running a million thoughts an hour and he just couldn’t think. Instead of trying to think about what in the hell he ate, he quickly snapped a photo. Grossed out would be an understatement. But he needed to know what he just threw up. Did he need to call an ambulance? 

The feeling of dread _screamed_ at him, a warning, a whisper that said _you know exactly what this is_. 

He hesitated, panting from throwing up. He felt sick still, but not quite nauseous. Like the sick feeling you get right before you get up on stage. Pressing his hand to his head, a ball of white hot feelings settled in his throat. Something mixed with horror and fear and regret. His mind couldn’t tell him what kind of regret, but it was there, and he didn’t know why. 

Luka flushed the contents down, stumbling towards the sink with fear scratched onto his face. The cold water that he splashed onto himself did nothing to subside the startling shock of what just happened. The best it did was coax him into a neutral expression with _barely_ concealed horror. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick of gum, chewing it quickly. 

Luka looked at himself in the mirror, rubbing at his throat. His gaze flickered between his throat and his face, and he just felt haunted by whatever the fuck just came out of him. 

A voice said something in the back of his head. He vaguely registered it as Nadja Chamack, the news reporter lady. Why he just remembered, he wasn’t sure. 

_“Elizabeth Chase was the first known patient of Hanahaki. She reported throwing up these tiny black seeds that caused her to call 911. The doctors told her they were poppy seeds, and asked if she remembered even ingesting such a food. It was shocking to find out that Ms. Chase had never eaten poppy seeds in her entire life.”_

He paused at the memory of the news reporting, now recalling that there was that new disease. The one about an unrequited love. 

Suddenly, a newer feeling of nausea overcame him, but something interrupted his thoughts. 

_Marinette_ , a tiny voice reminded him. _She’s waiting._ He wasn't sure _whose_ voice it was, but it lulled him into an abated feeling of calmness, because yes, she _was_ waiting. She was out there in a pretty dress, waiting idly by, probably with her sketchbook out. And she was out there _waiting for him._ Her face probably had that same concern written all over it too. He didn’t have time for this. _He didn’t have time for this._

Spitting out the gum into the trash, Luka took a deep breath and stepped outside. 

Lo and behold, Marinette was sitting there, a pinch of worry sprinkled onto her features. She had eaten only one of her pancakes. He noticed that she didn’t drink any of her coffee, beads of condensation collecting on the cup. She was twiddling her fingers, staring hard at his pain au chocolat as if she was going to burn a hole through it. 

“Careful, it might run away,” he joked, sitting in the booth across from her. She jumped, her cheeks flushing red again. She does _that_ a lot too: blush. Her eyes shone with worry and care, and it played with his heart in funny, funny ways. 

“Are you okay? You took a little bit in there. Do you have a stomach ache? I have some medicine for stomach aches in here somewhere...“ Marinette scavenged through her bag, the clatter of coins and pens and whatnot rustling. However, before she could reach into the abyss of her bag (girls’ purses and bags always held an endless amount of stuff), he reached over and grabbed both of her wrists slowly and gently. Marinette looked up at him through her eyelashes (they were so _long_ ), hesitation creeping onto her face.

“It’s okay, Mari.” A warm feeling sank into his chest when he said the nickname. “I think I ate something bad last night and it’s just now kicking in.”

The image of brown _seeds_ floating in the toilet flashed in his mind like a light bulb. 

“Oh Luka, I’m so sorry. Do you think you can eat this? Or would it make it worse?” she asked, sympathetically. The bread looked delicious. To hell with whatever he just threw up. He was _hungry,_ and he wanted to sit here with a pretty girl and have good conversation. So what?

“I’m hungry as an ox. I could definitely eat it.” 

There was still an undertone of concern written across Marinette’s features, with the way her eyebrows furrowed and nose crinkled every now and then. But she seemed to resign, sipping her coffee and fanning her face off from the onslaught of heat. Even he began to slip off his hoodie, revealing a muscle shirt of Kitty Section that Marinette had personally designed. 

For several moments, there was a comfortable silence that stretched between them as he tore apart the pain au chocolat in half. He could live like this, he thought to himself. Going to cafés for breakfast, sitting in silence together. If he was with her–he would be _happy_. 

Soon after, the duo sank into a serene conversation with each other, talking about this and that. What Marinette’s plans were tomorrow, if Luka booked any gigs, if Kitty Section had a rehearsal this week and what day, how were her parents doing, how was his mom doing, what were Luka’s plans tomorrow, and _oh,_ they _both_ had empty schedules? What a coincidence, they should _totally_ do something tomorrow!

(With years of refined practice, Luka swiftly texted Juleka under the table that he needed to reschedule that nail polish painting session with her and Rose, changing the time of the session to later that night.)

At some point, when the sun was high in the sky and it was certainly hotter than the morning had been, Marinette received about a dozen successive phone notifications on her phone, all _ding-ding-dinging_. His eyebrows lifted in curiosity while she frowned, lifting up her phone apologetically. She read the messages quickly, and her cheeks, brushed red by the heat, only managed to turn _redder_. 

It took him a second to figure out what was going on. She only ever blushed that hard when it had to deal with Adrien. And Juleka had told him about things like that– _Operation Adrienette_ , it’s called. Where the girls of Marinette’s class try to come up with schemes to get them together. 

Marinette punched out a response, her hands trembling, before she set down the phone on the table, unsure of what to say. He could read the uncertainty as clear as day, the sound of her song going slightly out of tune as he read the situation. 

It was probably an… ‘operation,’ but judging from her hesitation and silence, it needed to happen soon. Per se, probably right now, or in the next few minutes. And probably, Marinette didn’t know how to leave their outing to go attend to whatever the girls had stored for her. 

( _That’s all it is,_ a pessimistic voice said in the back of his head. _An outing. Not a date_.)

Was it selfish, if he just wanted to ignore that that ever happened, and carry on with their conversation? Was it selfish if he wanted to keep her to himself, no Adrien Agreste in the picture? 

Luka paused, contemplating over their situation.

He was never known as a selfish boy.

“Well, I have to get going now, as much as I hate to say it. How about tomorrow we go get some ice cream?” He grabbed his hoodie from the seat of his booth as he talked. If there was some sort of bite to his words, Marinette didn’t hear, quickly shoving the last of her pancakes in her mouth. It’s not like it would have been intended for her anyways—he’s just bitter about Adrien. That boy was too damn oblivious to realize what he had chasing after him. 

Relief washed over her face as she gathered her things together, and her shoulders relaxed. “Y-yeah! tomorrow! Ice cream! André’s, maybe! Text me the details! I’ll see you soon, Luka. Thanks for the food. I’ll text you.” In her series of exclamations, she hurriedly stacked the plates together and was about to run out before she paused. 

She looked at him in the eyes, resting her hand on his arm, and said, “Really, thank you, Luka.” 

And just like that, she was gone. 

His eyes fluttered close. It reminded him of when he let her go to Adrien after Frozer happened, with her chasing after his car. 

And then something rang in his heart, a dull song that reminded him—

_She is not yours to keep._

  
  
  
  
  


Juleka sat down on the couch, propping up her feet across Luka’s lap. Rose was at the tabletop, headphones on and her notebook out. She was in the mood to write, and unfortunately the art room at François Dupont was closed, so she found herself on the Liberty instead. 

Normally he’d say something, shove her feet off before engaging in some foot fight, but he wasn’t feeling it tonight. His stomach was hurting, he missed Marinette, and there were so many seeds that he found with the generic search term, “Bumpy teardrop brown seed”. So no, he wasn’t feeling in the mood, and sighed resignedly as her ratty converse made scuff marks on his jeans. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked, in her blunt, quiet voice. Her bangs hung low in her face as she stared at him with the gaze of a hawk. He shifted uncomfortably. Siblings always read each other well. Especially Juleka, who, for the first decade or so of her life, stuck to him like glue. 

“The question you should be asking is what _isn’t_ up with me,” he groaned, rubbing his face. He couldn’t seem to get Marinette out of his head. Marinette’s blush, the crumbs of pancake on her mouth when she was eating, her long eyelashes, her excited chatter about her next design, Marinette, Marinette, Marinette. 

“Ugh, _gross_. You’re thinking about Mari, aren’t you?” Juleka asked, rolling her eyes. He threw his arm over his eyes and threw his head back into the couch. He was so royally _screwed._

“Yeah but honestly—“

“When are you not?” Juleka finished for him, crossing her arms and brushing her bangs away. There was a minute of silence, not like the comfortable one with Marinette, but this one was more _stifling_ , so thick you could cut it with a knife. He swallowed and somehow stared harder into the darkness of his arm. It was almost getting to be _uncomfortable._

Juleka interrupted the silence with, “It was a bust.”

“What?” he asked, unsure as to what she meant. 

“Operation ‘Adrienette’. It was a bust. Adrien came but he didn’t even stay for more than thirty minutes. So… getting Marinette to confess romantically in the Louvre? Not the way to go, since that girl almost crashed into _Venus de Milo_ and almost got us kicked out.” 

Luka huffed out a laugh, already imagining Marinette doing her stuttering, blushing mess that she does when she gets near the blond model. She probably tripped over her own foot or an invisible shoelace. Like earlier today, his heart rang painfully.

_She is not yours to keep._

He elected to ignore the thought, instead remembering what had happened earlier in the café. Juleka resorted to her silence, tapping on her phone and probably playing one of her weird monster games that she liked so much. 

He pulled out his own phone, typing in a seed identification website. He looked at the picture of the seeds he took. They were brown, starting dark in the center before becoming lighter on the edges. Some of them were tapered off at the end, forming a teardrop shape. Using the website, he began applying different traits of the seeds, until he finally narrowed it down to a list of about thirty seeds. 

He began aimlessly scrolling, not even noticing Juleka get up to talk to Rose. The seeds all looked the same, and all these flowers were making his head hurt. But he continued scrolling, until one caught his eye. It looked exactly like the picture. 

_Gladiolus,_ it read. It linked to another webpage which described the flower in detail. It was sometimes referred to as a sword lily, coming in a variety of colors as do all other flowers. 

It represented strength of character and determination. Sincerity and integrity. 

That was Marinette to a T. 

It was obvious at this point. He was no stranger to denial, but _denial_ was too small of a feeling to even scratch the surface of what was going on in his head.

He had Hanahaki, and it was all for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

  
  
  


The heat was just as bad yesterday, so Luka forgone his hoodie altogether and wore his typical Jagged Stone muscle tee shirt. His skinny jeans were a staple to his outfit, so he kept those on despite how his legs were sweatin and it felt like he might die. Marinette, who was excitedly bouncing beside him as they waited in line, was wearing a pair of high waisted denim shorts and a cropped baby pink tank top. 

“I heard you’re using Juleka as a model again,” Luka said, rubbing at a bead of sweat collecting on his neck. _Gross._ “It’s really nice that you have her as a model. She’s really shy about that sort of stuff but I think she’s amazing for that kind of work.”

Marinette smiled at the mention of his sister, no doubt an expression of their friendship. “Yes! She’s incredible, and she really adds a nice touch to my clothing. I think no matter what the clothes are, she can make it work one way or another.” 

He remembered seeing Juleka all over Marinette’s commission website. A flowery pink online store with various articles of clothing, one would expect Juleka to stick out like a sore thumb, but somehow she made it work every single time. 

He knew all of the clothes Juleka modelled were made by Marinette, her careful hands stitching pieces of fabric together in ways he knew that Gabriel Agreste could never do. No matter what she makes—be it a hat, a pair of socks, a tie—he knows he would always be impressed by her. He’s _proud_ of her work. 

“I’m glad!” Before he could say more, they were at André’s ice cream stand, parked just a little further down the Seine. 

André looked at her, a spark of recognition going through his eyes, before he exclaimed, “A newcomer!” Luka fidgeted nervously, unsure what to say, but André continued speaking, scrutinizing him with very large eyes. “Hmm, how about... strawberry for her lips and blueberry for her eyes! And, oh, Marinette I see you’ve brought someone along! Cotton candy and blue bubblegum for you, just like the skies!” He winked playfully, as if there was some secret joke. 

There was a small beat of anticipation as to what Marinette would say. Luka knew she had come here before, which was when Glaciator happened. And he knew that Marinette wasn’t happy with whatever she got. ( _Details_ , she had told him, waving it off. _Nothing_ _you need to worry about_.)

He hoped that this time, she would be happy.

The long drawn out pause seemed to ache, a tender yet sore reminder in his heart that her feelings still lingered for someone far beyond Luka’s reach. But then she–

“Yeah sure, I’ll have that! And you, Luka?” She turned and _smiled_ , that goddamn heart-stopping smile that makes his knees turn into jello and his breath catch short of itself. He knew his face was warming up, a blush rising to his cheeks, but he nodded anyways. 

His heart was racing, wondering about the implications of her wanting to eat the ice cream, wondering about all the what if’s, wondering about what it meant. He didn’t even notice his body was on autopilot as he reached for his wallet. 

Marinette gently grabbed his wrist and shook her head, instead pulling out her purse. She handed over the euros, and André scooped their ice cream. 

(He didn’t protest. Not that he could, anyways. He was far too gobsmacked with the fact that _she took the ice cream_.)

“I’ve gotta admit, I’m not a very cotton candy ice cream kind of girl,” Marinette finally said when they sat down on the bench that faced the river. Overhead, the birds flying formed a little arrow, surrounded by wisps of white in the sky. He felt like he was on cloud nine, because he was sitting here with _Marinette Dupain-Cheng_ , a beautiful girl with a beautiful song, and he had really good ice cream in his hand—

Oh, right. He forgot he needed to actually respond. 

Composing himself and his thoughts (it was best not to give too much thought and hope), he finally said, “I’m not a very blueberry guy either. Blueberries in _general…_ a crime. A true crime against humanity.” He licked his ice cream, strawberry first because strawberries will always have a special place in his heart. It was delicious, filling him with a much needed cool down.

“Really? I _love_ blueberry ice cream.” Marinette’s ( _very_ pretty, and oh god Couffaine if you don’t stop looking you might fall under a spell—) eyes glimmered with excitement and joy. “Alya and I eat some when we would watch romance movies together! Usually we only watched romance movies after Adrien… ah…” she drawled off, her cheeks turning rosy. 

“After?” One of Luka’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity, but he felt like he already knew the answer. There was something that clutched at his heart, but he paid it no mind.

She waved off the rest of what she was going to say. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is that Alya and I ate like goblins _._ I think one time I got into a fight with someone at the grocery store because one time, they didn’t have any _whatsoever_ except for one small pint. And I’ll be darned if I let them have it!” Marinette grinned victoriously at the ball of blueberry ice cream resting on her waffle cone, as if that was the pint of ice cream she fought so hard over. 

_Oh no,_ Luka remarked breathlessly to himself. He’s really falling in love with her. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth as he tried to speak, but he cleared it and tried again. 

“Feisty,” he finally said, winking at her. “I like it.”

Marinette made a squeaking noise in response, her cheeks darkening as she gripped the ice cream a little tighter. The small victories like _that_ made it all worth it. He smirked a little bit and leaned back, a bit prideful in how her cheeks always turned that cute rosy color whenever he flirted a little bit. It was going to be the death of him one day.

( _She was going to be the death of him one day,_ a voice said. He swallowed down the bile that was about to rise in his throat when he heard and _listened_ to the voice.)

“S-so um! H-have you copmosed-I mean, composed any new music?” She giggled nervously, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. If he could hear her giggle like that every day, he thought he’d be a dead man by next month. 

She flashed another smile at him, all too toothy and wide. The classic nervous Marinette smile that he’d seen several times.

“Hmm, actually I have! I don't have my guitar with me, but if you’d like, we could go back to the Liberty and I can play it for you. We can escape the heat, too.”

“Oh that sounds great! I already finished some of my commissions this morning, so I have a clear schedule. I’d love to join you.”

“Then shall we, _mademoiselle?_ ”

  
  
  
  
  


There was nothing quite like the Liberty. With its dulled out colors and the gentle harmonies of water lapping at the boat, it was the safest place Luka has ever been. He remembered all the nights he spent, tossing and turning when insomnia consumed him, and eventually the sound of the water became his favorite lullaby that sang him to sleep. When the rain would pitter-patter against the floorboards of the boat, causing a soft thrum to echo down the house—that’s what he liked to call _peace._

This was his home, the place where he was born and raised. The place where Juleka and him played hide and seek, the place where his mom would sing when making dinner, the place where he just felt secure and safe and _happy_. 

This was the Liberty.

Luka led Marinette downstairs, their ice creams finished and over with. They stepped over the cardboard boxes full of stuff (is that a metal bat?) and maneuvered their way through his poorly organized house. Honestly, even though he’d lived here his whole life, he was pretty sure that if he had to narrate through this boat with his eyes closed, he _couldn’t._ Everything moved too damn much, and while that’s not a bad thing, it certainly was tiresome. Especially when he looked for music sheets-one minute it was on the boat near the helm, and the next it was downstairs next to the couch.

“I appreciate you trying to help clean up that one time. My mom hates it organized, but I don't mind it so much. It's like I got two left feet just walking to the bathroom.”

He knew that Marinette understood, because she was tip-toeing like a burglar on the job. Besides, he knew that she was a tad bit clumsy. It wasn’t bad, no, but if Juleka truly meant that she almost crashed into _Venus de Milo_ –well, it could get her into some fair amounts of trouble if she fell over onto something important. Either way, her clumsiness was endearing! It was just difficult because there were plenty of cardboard boxes with probably endless amounts of valuables inside.

His stomach started to hurt a little by the time he sat down on his bed. He paid it no mind, though, instead clutching at the body of his guitar like it was his lifeline. This was his _baby,_ not something to be messed with at all. (Though, he wouldn’t mind calling someone else his baby.)

(God, that was corny.)

The pain in his stomach kind of a subtle thrum at that point, like he just ate a lot of food and now feeling the after effects of bloating. However, something inside of him begged to ignore it, so ignore it he will. 

“So what’s this song about?” Marinette asked, sitting cross legged across from him. He always forgot how _small_ she was until she was sitting in front of him, her petite body much smaller than his larger frame. He noticed she had taken off her shoes out of politeness, which he appreciated. 

He thought it over for a moment, thinking about what to respond. He could lie, but he hated liars. And there really wasn’t any valid reason to lie in the first place–he was an open book. Almost an open book that is.

“You,” Luka admitted. Her blue eyes widened (how could they be so _blue?_ ), and she leaned a bit more forward in anticipation.

“Me? Y-you write a song about me?” 

“You’re my muse, Marinette. Your heartsong is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever heard before. It’s no wonder I make songs about you.”

The cards were on the table, now, but he didn’t regret any bit of it. Something about Marinette was just so _magnetizing_. Maybe it just wasn’t a singular ‘something’ but rather _all_ of her. Her admirable personality, her bravery, her determination–everything sang to him, like sweet harmonies blending together. She was the melody he couldn’t get out of his head, and never wanted to get out of his head. 

Instead of waiting for her response (he knew she had a buffering symbol floating above her head), Luka strummed his guitar and _played_ , ignoring the ache that reverberated in his chest as he did so.

There were no lyrics to the song. He tried over and over and over again, but they just ended up sounding like love songs you hear on the radio. She didn’t deserve something like that, and besides, lyrics were more of Rose’s thing anyway. Instead, he stayed up late at night, scratching into blank music sheets with his shitty wooden pencil that broke every two seconds. He had to think of her, her beauty, the passion that coursed through her veins, her sweet voice, her _everything._ Because Marinette Dupain-Cheng was an extraordinary girl.

As music flowed through his fingertips, he couldn’t help but notice that she closed her eyes, swaying side to side to the music. Her hand was placed over her heart, reminiscent of their first meeting. A gentle smile tugged at her lips. She wore an expression that he could only describe as _adoration_ , and it made his fingers tremble a little bit, his heart racing faster than it already was. 

When he was finished, Marinette’s eyes fluttered open, her face pink. “That was amazing Luka! Y-you wrote that? For me?” The way she asked pulled at his heartstrings, as if she couldn’t believe that someone had done something for her.

But he’d give her the whole world and forever more if he could.

He set his guitar aside. “Of course. Marinette. Listen to me. Your song is so _beautiful._ I can’t imagine…” His breath stuttered as a wave of abrupt pain washed over him. but he shouldered through the sentences. He had to say this, or else it would plague his mind. “I can’t imagine not _hearing_ you. Your song is just so goddamn wonderful and I just can’t get it out of my head, even if I wanted to. You’re incredible, Mari. Every part of you hums love and comfort, and I wouldn’t miss hearing it for the world. You’re my muse.”

He then gently nudged her jaw close, and he teased, “You’ll catch flies like that, darling.” 

Marinette started at him, her mouth trembling in shock. Without a single peep, she turned and threw her body around him, tackling him into a hug. They both fell onto his bed, the wood creaking at the movement. She held onto him like her life depended on it, and he slowly raised his hand to rub comfortingly at her head. She didn’t say anything, like there was too much to say and not enough time. 

For moments, they laid there. Marinette tightened her grip at some point, but he didn’t mind at all. It was obvious to him: she _needed_ this. She needed someone to comfort her, to be there for her. And he’d give it to her, over and over again. He didn’t need to hear what she had to say to _understand_. 

The smell of honey filled his senses. It almost made him dizzy with how strong it was. 

He wasn’t even sure how long it was until Marinette let go, her eyes a bit too wide and her mouth a bit too tight. It made him remember when he found her at the park, and she had collapsed in tears. He had no idea what was on her plate, but he was sure that whatever it was, it felt like carrying the sky. 

They sat in silence, side by side now with their knees touching once again.

Marinette interrupted it with, “I’m sorry.”

Luka looked at her, carefully placing his hand on her knee reassuringly and shaking his head. “Don’t be, Mari. I don’t mind.”

“No, I just… I don’t want to be overbearing or overwhelming. Or anything like that.” Marinette paused, glancing between his hand and him, before settling on his hand. “And I don’t want it to seem like I come to you for my emotional problems because you’re not my therapist. You’re my friend, Luka, and I don’t want to treat you like otherwise. I just… it was beautiful, what you said. I don’t think anyone’s ever said something like that to me.”

He could only nod in response. He honestly didn’t feel like he was being _used_ –isn’t it just… human decency to comfort someone through hard times? 

“Marinette, as a friend, I’m here to support and help you. I understand what you’re saying, and thank you for even thinking about apologizing, but you’re not overbearing or overwhelming at all. I appreciate you considering me, but I promise, it’s okay. And you’re welcome. What I said was the truth.”

Marinette smiled at him, a soft, grateful one. And the silence consumed them once more. 

In a life fueled by music, he found comfort in it. 

Marinette’s song softened at this point, almost playing inaudibly in his ear. It wasn’t unhappy. It sounded content. More in tune. 

Eventually, however, the pain that curdled in his stomach increased tenfold. It was hard fighting the black spots in his vision, but he so desperately wanted to stay here forever. 

But the pain became too much to bear, so he slowly stood up from the bed. Marinette jolted at the sudden movement, and looked at him curiously. All he could do was point to the bathroom, scared that if he disturbed the quiet it’ll all shatter like a dream. 

So instead, he flashed her one more tender, and hopefully not _pained,_ smile before turning and walking to his bathroom. Every bone in his body was screaming at him to _move faster._ But his senses were running on the fiery coals of pain and the tenderness of love, and so he found his limbs moving slower than ever. He was stuck in an I-love-that-girl limbo, so it helped distract him away from the pain for at least a little bit. 

Luka tried to keep his gag quiet as he clutched the toilet bowl. The water was too _loud_ as he threw up the brown seeds, coated in spit and bile as they splashed into the water. 

_Great,_ he thought to himself. _I just confessed to a beautiful girl, and now she probably thinks I'm shitting my brains out._

Luka slammed his hands over his mouth, but the seeds just didn’t stop coming. They didn’t stop, and his stomach was twisting and turning and _burning._ They didn’t stop, and he really confessed to Marinette _again_ , and how many times was it again he had done this? They didn’t stop, and somewhere across Paris, Adrien Agreste was sitting at home with the obliviousness of a child. They didn’t stop, and he felt _exhausted_ , slumped over the toilet bowl with seed upon seed coming out of his mouth. 

When the last of it came out, his throat was dry and rubbed raw. As they swirled around in the toilet, they seemed to mock him, laughing. 

_You fell in love with a girl whose heart is already taken by someone else._

But he glared back, as if they could see, and then flushed the toilet. Thankfully, it all went down, and he paused for a minute to catch his breath. He felt winded, his stomach now just reaping the lingering effects. He rubbed at his throat, and god, will he always have to throw up when he’s around her?

Luka staggered to his feet, and with the speed of a sloth, slowly began brushing his teeth. He didn’t really know what _gladiolus_ breath smelled like, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t really like it. In the mirror, he almost jumped out of his skin seeing how disheveled he looked. He looked almost… gaunt. 

Since when did he look so sickly _?_

“Luka? Are you okay?”

Marinette’s soft knuckles rapped against the door, timid but strong. Her voice sang levels of concern. 

He wasn’t sure what to say to her. _Hey, Melody, just threw up random fucking seeds because I think I fell in love with you? Also, not to alarm you, but that may be because I have this shitty disease that no one really knows too much about besides—_

He settled for, “Yeah, I’m okay. I was just looking for some medicine for my headache.”

She didn’t question it. “Oh I see! Um, I think I actually have some in my purse if you still needed some. I’ll go get you some water so you can take it!” she said, and god, that was _cute_ and endearingly Marinette of her to offer to get him water. 

However, Luka was already opening the door before she could leave to get the water. Marinette squeaked as she was facing him, and it was also times like this when they were up close and personal that he really saw how small she was. Gently, he grabbed a lock of her hair, the one that kept falling in front of her face, and carefully tucked it behind her ear.

“I know that was a lot for me to say earlier, Marinette. I can’t force you to have feelings for me. And I wouldn’t, even if I could. I respect how you feel about Adrien, and if something comes of it, then I’ll be happy for you. And if not, I’m still here in your corner, whether as a friend or something more.” It was true; he couldn’t push his feelings onto her. She's her own person, and not only that, he barreled into her life only about a month ago. He couldn’t force her to change her year long feelings about a boy, and he couldn’t force her to get rid of her feelings on the spin of a dime. 

“T-t-thank you for respecting my feelings, Luka. I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know if I’d be able to return _your_ feelings right now. I’m just so… so confused about everything. One moment I think I’ve moved on, but then Adrien smiles at me, and I just… I just go crazy. And then there’s so much going on in my life, like the burden of being someone whose everyone wants and expects me to be, and I’m not even sure if I’m ready to be in a relationship. And oh geez, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Marinette put her hands on her face, bowing her head slightly in shame. However, he carefully pried her hands from her face and set them by her side.

Luka then placed his hands on her shoulders, looking at her square in the eye. “Marinette, I won’t force you to do _anything_. Even just being friends, I’m happy because I get to be friends with _you._ And I think that’s one of the greatest gifts I could receive.”

There was an inkling of a smile there, but it was still guarded. He listened to her song–no matter how many times he had listened and paid attention, there was always something missing. Like he just accidentally skipped to the next page of music. It still sounded beautiful, but just not whole. He wasn’t sure what it was, and he wondered if the lack of ‘completion’ of it was due to what was going on in her personal life. And he wondered what could be going on in that head of hers, what ideas and thoughts danced around.

“Thank you. Really.” 

“No problem, Mari. I promise you. I’ll be okay with whoever you choose, or if you don’t even choose. I’ll still be here with open arms.” 

Her shoulders relaxed, the tension leaving.

“That means a lot to me,” she said gratefully, and he pulled her into another hug. She looked like she needed it. When he pulled away, her eyes fluttered with happiness. That was the look he wanted to see on her. 

“Why don’t I go teach you some guitar, hmm? I know you’ve always wanted to learn! I know I tried teaching you that one rehearsal but… Desperada happened.” Something inside of him soured when he remembered Desperada, but he swallowed it down. 

Marinette absolutely beamed, and his heart thudded so loudly he was sure that she could hear it. “That would be great! I don’t want to break your guitar though… I’m just a bit clumsy.”

Luka opened the door to his room again, saying, “Oh don’t worry! Maybe we can start off with a ukulele or something?” 

“That would work! Less strings to work with after all!” 

They nestled together on the bed, facing each other so Luka could adjust her hands. His ukulele was old but loved, even though it collected dust in the corner of his room. Admittedly, he didn’t play it much, sticking with his guitar, but… sometimes he just liked to sit back, and just take it easy. He thought Marinette could use some of that too, with the way her body was tense and always on guard. 

He began adjusting her grip on the ukulele, her hands a bit too stunted, and a bit too awkward. If she noticed a faint pinkness on his cheeks (her hands were just so _soft)_ then she didn’t comment, opting instead to focus all of her attention onto fixing her hands. 

“There you go, just like that. Now you want to kind of cup your hand like—“ Luka took a hold of her nimble fingers, scarred by the pinpricks of several sewing needles. “—that! And then you can just strum.”

She hesitantly moved her hand, a soft sound playing. Her eyes _sparkled_ , and she looked up and gazed _hard_ into his eyes. “I did it!” she exclaimed excitedly, her fingers closing over the neck of the ukulele. 

“You did, Melody! You’re amazing!” And it was true. It wasn’t just sweet talk, sugared up for an equally sweet girl. It was honest, and the way the words felt like liquid gold just felt _right_. Because maybe he wasn’t just complimenting the way she strummed, maybe he wasn’t just referencing how her hands were now more fitted to the ukulele. 

“Really? Amazing?” she questioned, and it threw him back into when his mom became Captain Hardrock, when Marinette managed to get them out of the lock that held them together. He still wasn’t really sure how she did it, even with a guitar pick he assumed that it wasn’t even possible. But she was just _that_ incredible.

A dopey smile stretched across his face. He never even knew he _had_ a smile like that, until the girl next to him popped up out of nowhere in his life. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t lie to you!” 

Her face turned a pleasing shade of pink at his response, and he closed his calloused hands over her scarred ones, guiding her to press down on one of the strings. 

“So if you press down right here…”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Eventually, Marinette’s seamstress hands cramped from the ukulele, and so they took a break from music. Now lying on his wooden floor together, they were desperately trying to cool down in the hot, muggy air. Marinette even tied up her dark hair into a pretty bun and took a spare barrette from her purse and pinned back Luka’s bangs. Afternoon was rapidly coming to a close, so hopefully the evening air would cool them down. 

“Luka,” Marinette whined, drawing out his name. It sent flutters down his spine. “Why is it so hot in here? I think I’m going to die.”

“The air conditioning,” he said slowly, rubbing a bead of sweat from his eyebrows. “It’s too expensive. We use fans or we die like men.” If the heat picked up, he was sure a headache would come about. But with his thoughts moving at two miles an hour, he wasn’t sure what to do to escape the heat. They could go swimming, but… Luka hated the pool. It kind of grossed him out. They could honestly go anywhere (except the pool of course), but he wasn’t sure what Marinette was comfortable with. Maybe they could go ice skating… ah, no, it’s a Sunday, they always hold ice skating lessons at this time. 

“You think super loudly,” Marinette groaned, and he let out a weak laugh. 

“Sorry, just trying to think of something to do. I try to stay away from the boat when it gets like this because it’s just too hot.”

“The ice cream isn’t sitting too well in my stomach too.”

Luka couldn’t see her because he was gazing long and hard at the wooden ceiling of the boat. But he knew she was pouting. He knew it. 

They both drawled off into silence that managed to simultaneously be _loud._ But the thick air managed to be louder. 

Marinette interrupted the buzzing quietness with: “My house has air conditioning.”

_Oh my god, she’s inviting you to her house. Wait, no, calm down. Maybe she’s thinking of going home._

“Does it?”

Marinette sat up and looked at him. They were sort of laying side to side, but with Marinette more at a diagonal position. She twisted her body a little bit, leaning back and propping herself up by her hands to stare at him. Her cheeks were splotchy, patches of heat induced red everywhere on her cute face. She looked a bit unsure.

“It does! A-and I’m not going to force you to come over to my house, no that’d be silly! It’s just I’m really… hot.”

_You could say that again._

Luka raised an eyebrow at her, smiling. She ducked her head a little bit, continuing on shyly. “And I know we also just ate ice cream, and I literally just talked about how the ice cream isn’t boding well with me, but… who can resist a croissant with mousse in between?” She looked at him with puppy dog eyes, and god, who could resist that? He felt his strength waver with those blue eyes of hers. 

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, raising his hands in surrender. Juleka’s voice whispered into his head again, saying: _whipped_. He huffed a little bit in response, slowly pushing himself off the ground. His head was throbbing a little bit, but that was alright. It was probably just from the heat anyways. Maybe he’ll take some medicine if it persists. 

He held out his hand to Marinette, and that dopey smile was there again.

“Looks like we’ll be traveling everywhere today, Miss Marinette,” he said, winking, and she laughed gleefully before taking his hand in hers and standing up.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Hey Marinette? Are you okay?”

They were (once again) lying down on the rug in Marinette’s room, as her bed was too small to fit the two of them (plus… the _implications)_. It was cool in the Dupain-Cheng household, and Luka was able to ward off the oncoming of his headache. They just ate a croissant with white mousse in between, and it was god damn delicious, so he had spent all of his energy. 

“Yes, why? Do I not seem okay?” Marinette asked.

“No, I mean… you know, there’s this whole disease going around. Hanahaki.” He fumbled over the foreign word, before swallowing it down and continuing. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Because of… him, and all.” 

The cork board hanging on her wall above her bed had a big picture of Adrien with a blue sky in the background. Luka honestly felt like there were more pictures of him that were originally up, but he recalled something Marinette told him about her room being televised, so she took a lot of pictures down. 

“Strangely,” she started, her voice dropping down to something sad, “I don’t have it. I don’t know how to react to that you know? There could be so many reasons why I just… don’t have it. For one he could… he could be returning my feelings, but...” Her voice then drawled off, unsure. But Luka was patient, watching her organize her thoughts back into her mental filing cabinets as she spoke again. 

“There’s a sliver of hope that makes me think maybe he loves me as much as I love him. Or, I mean that he could love me. But I know that’s not the case. I think realistically… ” Marinette paused. At her hesitation, Luka sat up to look at her. He was about to touch her cheek, as an act of comfort, but understood that with the subject, that probably wasn’t what she needed. Instead, he settled for a gentle expression, molded by his own feelings of care and love. Her eyes looked at him, and then darted back to the ceiling. 

“I’m starting to think it’s not love,” she whispered. Her voice sounded like broken glass. Just those words alone made his heart shatter similarly. 

Luka understood how devoted she was to Adrien Agreste. He saw how dreamy her smile got when someone mentioned Adrien in passing. He saw that when they passed by a cologne advertisement there was something so soft and unrecognizable that always passed over her face. She would defend that boy to her last dying breath. 

He couldn’t tell her how she felt, he couldn’t tell her how she loved was right or wrong. So he stayed silent, reaching out to stroke her arm comfortingly to let her know she could go on. 

“I mean… really, Luka. The things I _did_ … I’m not proud of it. Too many regrets and mistakes and accidents all rolled up in a stupid crush.” Marinette laughed bitterly, but there was so much more. Layers and layers of thought and sadness wrapped up into bitter words. Layers of failed confessions and wasted time. _She’s been thinking about this for a long while_ , Luka thought to himself. 

Marinette suddenly stood up, walking up the stairs to her bed. When she came back down, she was holding the picture of Adrien he noticed earlier, and she folded it up and threw it in the trash. 

It felt like a testament. 

Luka swallowed a gladiolus seed that had managed to rise from the pits of his stomach. 

“It’s just… I know he’s not going to want me. I know that there’s tons of other girls in Paris who are prettier and basically just _better_ than me. And I know that his father is going to be strict, and the baker’s daughter with future fashion dreams probably isn’t going to cut it. I think it’s a lost cause.”

Although he greatly disagreed with her statement—baker’s daughter does not _remotely_ cover just how amazing she is—Luka remained silent. _This is her time,_ he thought to himself. _Let her talk before saying anything._

“And I think… I think I need to let it go. Let _him_ go. Talking about my feelings earlier to someone who just wasn’t looking for a ploy to get me and Adrien together felt… cathartic. I think I’ve come to terms with letting him go. I can’t deny that sometimes, he makes my heart race. But it’s a different feeling now.” Marinette looked back at him, her hands on her hips. She gazed at him, and something wavered in her song, like someone plucked the wrong string and suddenly a cascade of chords came tumbling out. It wasn’t a bad thing.

This was her letting go, this is her adjusting the tune of her song. This wasn’t Marinette Dupain-Cheng, his little sister’s friend who fawned over Adrien Agreste.

This was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And that was all.

“Is that wrong of me? To give up so easily? I mean… everyone has had their mind dead set on Adrien and I getting together, but if he doesn’t even notice me now…” She sunk to her knees, bringing them close to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself. Just that small action made herself just seem so _small_. Luka’s heartstrings tugged, Marinette pulling them in all the right and wrong ways. 

He decided this was his time to speak up. “Marinette, I don’t think it’s wrong at all.” He crawled over, grabbing one of her hands and sandwiching it between his own bigger ones. “I’m not going to dictate your feelings. You feel differently than I do, and we both know that. But I don’t think it’s wrong. I think it’s just… well, it’s moving on.”

There was a moment when a series of expressions flickered across her face. It was like a carousel of just expressions of uncertainty, unhappiness, hopelessness, and all of these awful emotions. For a moment, Luka was worried about an akuma. But he knew Marinette, and he knew that she was capable of handling herself. And if she wasn’t, he’d be here. So he let the thought go, let it flutter away, and focused on the warm hand in his own. 

“You’re entitled to move on, Mari. You shouldn’t have to hold onto feelings because you feel obligated to. And I think you’re extraordinary, too. Don’t move on from Adrien by putting yourself down. Trust me. You’re a fucking amazing girl with a never ending list of skills and with the strongest personality I have ever met. Any boy or girl in Paris would be lucky to have you.”

Marinette’s face cracked into a smile, crooked and tight, but Luka knew she was trying. 

“I think there's always going to be a part of my heart tucked away for Adrien,” she admitted. And honestly? He knew that. There was always going to be a part of her song, whether it be a harmony or an entire chorus, that was meant for Adrien Agreste to hear and dedicated to only him. And sometimes moving on just required for that part to stay with her, locked up firmly with a lock and key. 

“I mean… I don’t know. I really don’t know what I’m trying to say, besides that I think he wasn’t meant for me and we were never meant _to_ be.” Luka brushed some strands of dark hair out of her face. Her eyes met his, and her lip quivered. He watched as a few tears dropped from her eyes, and he carefully brushed them away with his thumb. 

Luka could say something like: _Oh maybe you’re meant to be, just not right now._ But that wasn’t going to help anyone in the situation. And that was certainly not something he’d want to say to her after she just spilled her feelings about _letting go._ Maybe if they were meant to be, Adrien would come back to her. But for now, he was in the stars far above Marinette’s reach, and she was letting him go. 

“You don’t have to know what to say to me. But do you know what you’re trying to say to yourself?”

Marinette looked at the trashcan. He knew the gears in her head were turning, clanging against each other as she pondered over her thoughts. He stayed right there, his legs crossed as he reached down and stroked her hand with his thumb. He wasn’t sure how long it was before she answered his question. 

“I do.”

Marinette’s heartsong no longer wavered, and it sung to him in the most beautiful way possible, with harmonies and melodies filling his head. Slowly, he pulled her into a hug as she brought her legs down, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tight. She didn’t need a boyfriend or anything. What she needed was someone to be there for her. And damn it all if he wasn’t going to be that someone. 

  
  
  
  
  


“You have it, don’t you?”

Luka stopped in his tracks. He was just on his way to go to get lunch with his friend from some restaurant. But Juleka’s rough voice interrupted his steps, and an overwhelming sense of dread began to _drown_ his thoughts, bubbling and fizzing deep within his bones. 

She was lying down on the couch, an uninterested expression pressed onto her features. But he knew her better than that. 

“What?” He had to ask to see if he heard right. There was no way she knew. He was so careful about how _loud_ he was when he threw up, sometimes throwing up into his hand and carefully dumping the contents in the toilet. (It was _gross,_ but sometimes that was how it had to _be_ if he wanted to prevent anyone from finding out.)

“The flower disease.” Juleka stood up, her stride bold and angry. She jabbed her index finger into his chest, looking down and letting her bangs fall in front of her face. “And let me fucking guess, you’re not going to get the surgery.”

The surgery. He read it online. The only known way to help remove the disease was to get a surgery, but it was much more risky than many would like to admit. 

He heard the horror stories coming from patients’ families, and it all sounded like something he wanted to avoid. Some people forget the person they fell in love with. Other stories, on a smaller margin, entailed the complete opposite; they would harbor a sense of hatred for the person they used to love. And he wasn’t sure if he could deal with that. He really wasn’t. Because he doesn’t think he could forget Marinette, and he doesn’t think he could even bear to hate her either. 

Besides, the disease was so _new_ , all the treatments were being scrutinized for any long term effects. He was terrified of being put under, but knowing that the surgery was just introduced recently and has a drastic range of results? No thanks.

“No, Juleka. I’m not.” Luka said with a tone of finality. He looked down at her with sympathy. He didn’t want this. And he knew that neither did she. 

“ _Stupid._ Stupid Marinette, making fucking _everyone_ fall in love with her at every turn,” Juleka huffed, and she crossed her arms and finally looked at him. There was something raw and vulnerable in the way she looked at him, with the way her eyes bled with every emotion stored in that heart of hers. (He only ever really saw that look whenever his mom would bring up their absent father.)

“You have to stop loving her.”

Luka stared off in the distance, finding a black shelf with paperwork much more interesting. 

“I don’t think I can stop loving her, Jules.” 

And suddenly, he was on his ass, Juleka towering over him. He barely registered when she shoved him onto the ground. 

She seemed so old now-like this. He remembered back then, when he stood in front of her to defend her from no other than Chloe Bourgeois. She was crying at the time, her black leggings ripped to expose a bleeding scrape on her knee. Chloe had shoved her off the playground, causing her to tumble onto the ground into the mulch. But now this was _Juleka_ , grown up with no scrapes on her knees and too big of a heart. 

“You _will_ , Luka, Because I can’t lose you. I can't lose you like how we lost our dad.” 

And that, _that_ broke his heart into fragments. It was like a dam, the waters flooding in and destroying any semblance of control he had over the situation. Rationale slammed into him like a wrecking ball. 

How could he be so _selfish_ by avoiding the surgery? How many people would he hurt if he died? What would he sacrifice? How would Marinette feel if she indirectly caused his inevitable death? How would his family deal? His friends? Hell, what the fuck would _he_ do? Is he even mentally prepared for this?

And for the first time in a long time, he felt the tears rushing down his face. He dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands. He was tired—tired of pretending that the disease wasn’t affecting him, tired of loving Marinette too much and too hard, and he was just _tired._

Distantly, he heard Juleka talking to him, but the bottle he corked so tightly was now overflowing with vulnerability. And it was long overdue–a culmination of frustration, sadness, fear, and anger suddenly drowned from him. Meditation could only do so much to help keep the bottle closed. It never did anything to get rid of the emotions. 

He _loved_ Marinette and he always would, but there was something so _wrong_ about everything. Like when Frozer happened. It hurt him when she focused on Adrien when he was _right there._ And sure they had special moments on the rink but knowing she invited him because of _Adrien_ —isn’t he entitled to feel a little _used_ for that? And sure, at that point she didn’t know his feelings for her whatsoever, but even as a friend, it kind of stung. Honestly, he almost felt disrespected. He didn’t mind being there, _really,_ but goddamn, it _hurt_. 

It was just awkward. He let her go that day, let her run to Adrien, and he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t do it again because he would, if it made her happy. But still, the ache had an iron clutch on his heart and was _squeezing_. 

And with Desperada—that day he told her how he played the guitar since he was basically in diapers, and she _still_ gave the guitar to Adrien. And at that point, she knew about his feelings for her too. He didn’t even want to think about it, because something ugly rolled in his stomach when he thought about it too much. 

He was there for her. He was there for her when she decided to let go and you know what? He was so proud of her. He was so proud of her for letting Adrien go, but was it wrong of him to think that he felt a little _relieved?_ Because no longer would she depend on him to help her with her schemes to get Adrien if she didn’t have sights on him in the first place. He wasn’t sure how to feel, if his feelings were right or wrong, if there could even _be_ a right or wrong for what he felt. It was just accompanied with guilt and not much room for anything else.

And it was all spilling, spilling, spilling, and all Luka could do was bury his face in his hands and cry. Cry like he did when he was six, alone in his room, after his mom told him no, your father isn’t coming back. He felt so weak and vulnerable. 

Juleka rubbed his back, saying, “I know, I know,” and not much else. And he was glad because he didn’t even know what to say to her. He could say something like, _I’ll be okay,_ but Jesus, hadn’t he done enough lying to himself? Or maybe he could say something like, _I don’t know what to do_ , but the truth hurt for him to even think about. So instead he just cried and leaned his head into her shoulder. 

“I got you,” she said, and he sobbed. 

He was scared. He, Luka Couffaine, was scared. He wasn’t _too_ scared when he was Viperion, when Chat Noir and Ladybug depended on him, when _Paris_ depended on him. He had the superpowers, the get-up… But for the first time in his life, he was _terrified_. He was terrified because he had a disease. He was terrified because the only way for the disease to go away was the surgery or… or if Marinette loved him back. But the latter was so far away, it was an impossible solution.

“I don’t want this,” Luka cried. Juleka gently pushed him off her shoulder, instead looking at him in the eye. 

“I know you don’t. But what are you going to do? If you don’t get the surgery…” Juleka trailed off, biting her lip. She really did seem grown up now. But she was still a kid, with the way her hands shook and the way she seemed so unsure and uncertain with her words. 

“Time,” Luka finally whispered. “I need time.”

“I don’t know if you have any–“

Luka cut her off, and the desperation in his eyes must have looked wild, because her expression softened. “Time. I need time, Juleka. I need time to figure out what the _hell_ I’m going to do.”

“Fine, then. You can get time. Time _and_ a doctor.”

“Deal.” He smiled weakly at her. “And don’t hate on Mari. It’s not her fault.” She looked at him incredulously once he said this, her eye twitching slightly. But she seemed to know it wasn’t really Marinette’s fault either, as she looked away and huffed. 

“I think it’s her fault for making too many boys fall in love with her.”

He laughed softly. “Not Adrien Agreste, though.”

Juleka smiled at that, a gentle smile that spoke of memories. “But not Adrien Agreste.”

  
  
  
  
  


“Luka!” Marinette called down the boat, and he nearly fell off the bed hearing her soft voice sing-song down the boat. He flushed–he was still in sweatpants, and he didn’t have a shirt on, oh _god_ –and with the brain cells of a jellyfish, he jumped into bed and tucked himself under the covers. 

Marinette walked in, wearing a cream thin shirt with a black tank top underneath, along with a pair of tight denim shorts. Her hair was tied in twin buns this time, little ribbons attached to them. Her face turned red once she saw his predicament. 

“Y-you don’t have a shirt on,” Marinette stammered, staring at his bare shoulders. Luka flushed even deeper, bringing up the covers to his chin.

“You came earlier than I expected! Like… twenty minutes earlier,” he huffed in defense. They’re supposed to be going to the fashion show Marinette referenced all those weeks ago. She had the option for a ‘plus one’ and she dutifully told Luka that he was going, no ifs ands or buts. And how could he say no to her? 

“Well I was hoping we could eat before we got there! Nothing big because I know there’s going to be snacks but uh…. uh…. I’m g-gonna leave! So you can put on your… clothes! Yes, clothes! Bye-bye!” Marinette scuffled out, her two left feet causing her to trip over her invisible shoelace. Luka grabbed a random shirt (some vintage band shirt he probably thrifted), throwing it on. 

Neither of them were wearing the actual clothes they were going to wear to the show. Marinette had actually designed some clothes for the _both_ of them. _“Matching,”_ she had said to him when she was measuring his legs. “ _It’s better to come matching with your plus one.”_ So she designed an outfit for him, after a seemingly endless barrage of questions including: “ _What material do you like more, satin or chiffon?_ ” 

He had no clue what either of those words meant. 

The only thing she told him to bring were jeans, and she was explicit–dark grey jeans, nothing else, nothing more. No rips, no chains. Professional, but casual. 

He slipped into his Doc Martens (they were getting a little scuffed, maybe he needed to buy another pair–) before poking his head out. Marinette was seated on the couch, twiddling her fingers and looking down. 

“Ready?” he asked, and she smiled up at him when she heard his voice. 

The ride to the Dupain-Cheng bakery wasn’t long. He chained up his bike to a bike rack next to the entrance of the bakery, hoping that no one took it. When he came inside, he was surrounded with the familiar feeling of warmth and the scent of pastries and baked goods. The atmosphere alone was enough to make him smile.

“Hi Maman! Luka is with me!” 

“Luka! It’s nice to see you!” Mrs. Cheng said from behind the counter, and he smiled happily at her. She seemed a bit preoccupied with filling up a cream puff, so he only waved back to her as they headed upstairs. 

There was something so calm about Marinette's house. There were no waves to rock the boat. The pungent smell of river water didn’t flood his every sense. No, the warm smell of freshly baked bread followed them upstairs, accompanied with the feeling of comfort. 

He loved it here.

“I want you to try on your clothes first!” Marinette exclaimed, bouncing excitedly on her heels. He followed her into her room, captivated by the scent of pastries and honey. 

She handed him the clothes, smiling nervously and shooing him off towards the bathroom. He quickly kicked off his boots before scuttling into the bathroom with excitement running through his veins. When he was done getting dressed, he couldn’t help but feel… he felt _pretty._

The black, long sleeved button up he was wearing was tailored exactly to his measurements (no surprise there), but it was just so soft and beautiful and my _god_ , she was so talented. The back was sheer, and he wasn’t quite sure what material it was but he knew it was something _like_ mesh. A pattern of black flowers were sewn into the sheer material, threads of gold weaving between them, before the flowers stopped just short of his shoulder blades. The front was plain black, and it had a breast pocket. It was simple, but on the inside of the pocket, there was a gold lining that presented the initials _MDC._ The cuffs were similar–he noticed that if he rolled them up once or twice, her initials would be proud and shining. And the collar also had a single, golden rose embroidered into it, stopping halfway on the back of his neck. 

He initially wasn’t too sure how fancy the clothing had to be, but Marinette had said that it needed to look good, but not _too_ good. Which is why he shimmied into his (not ripped, mind you) skinny jeans. She said to him, _specifically,_ to bring the Doc Martens, and they better not be _too_ scuffed or else. 

The entire outfit was _nice._ He felt formal, but not too formal. He unbuttoned one button down from his collar to let him breathe a little bit. It was just absolutely incredible how she managed to make a brand new outfit for him with her busy schedule. 

When Luka stepped out of the bathroom, Marinette was half way into her sentence, talking to… someone. 

“Marinette? Who are you talking to?”

Marinette nearly squealed, and her phone dropped to the floor. _Ah, she was on the phone._

“I was talking to uh… my aunt! Yes, she wanted to know who I was going with, you know how aunts are…” She trailed off, staring at Luka with something in her eyes that he didn’t know how to label. Her jaw dropped, and her cheeks gradually darkened. 

In a moment of confidence (good clothes can always give someone confidence), he sauntered straight up to her and gently closed her jaw. “Flies, remember, Ma-Ma-Marinette?” he teased, and she suddenly shook her head to knock out whatever stupor she was in.

“It looks amazing on you! Oh my gosh, it’s better than anything I could’ve imagined…” Marinette ran her hands down Luka’s biceps and oh, it was _his_ turn to blush. She examined all the threads of everything, how her initials looked. She even stood on her tiptoes to examine the embroidery of the golden rose. Then, she began speaking to him at a thousand miles per hour.

“Usually, Marinette would be my signature, but for smaller places like this pocket, I usually find that my initials help. Plus, it’ll make everyone know my entire name! Or, er, only sort of. I was really worried about the embroidery of the flower looking too cheap–“

“It doesn’t look cheap at all, Mari–“

“But I don’t think it does! And I didn’t want to make anything too flashy for you, I thought teal would be nice but the teal fabric was so much more expensive, so I settled for black! Plus, it would look good with what I was wearing! And I was worried you would pull out too grey of jeans, which is why I had a back up, don’t ask where I got it from, but you chose the perfect color! And let me see the back–oh, it looks so good! I really wanted to make it pop a little bit, but not so much that it would detract away from the fashion models, but attract just enough _at_ the afterparty–“

Luka laughed, turning and placing his hands on both sides of Marinette’s cheeks. Her mouth parted to say something, but he just tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb. “It’s incredible, Marinette. Your talent in making things like this… I don’t know how you managed to capture me so well but managed to bring out something I wouldn't normally do. Does that make sense? It’s something outside my comfort zone, but it’s close enough to make me feel comfortable.” 

Marinette let out a gentle smile, and to his surprise, put a hand on top of the hand on her cheek. “I could say the same for you, with your music. How you seem to play my song so well! You're _amazing_ , Luka. really. Every time you play it just sends shivers! You know?” she said something else, but his cheeks were already so red he thought he might combust. It was one thing to compliment him on his _looks_ , but his _guitar skills_? Now that was the kicker. 

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. “So where’s your outfit?”

Marinette winked at him. “Every girl knows not to put the dress on while you’re doing make-up! I still have my eyeliner, my mascara, and… other stuff! Plus, Papa brought us some beignets earlier while you were getting dressed! I don’t want to get powdered sugar everywhere.” She gestured toward a plate resting on the table and there it was. Luka’s heaven. A plate of powdered beignets lay awaiting him. 

As Luka went to town on the plate (offering Marinette some occasionally to make sure she’s not hungry), they held a good conversation. Mostly about what to expect at the fashion show and the afterparty, and the etiquette expected of them both. He understood that number one: he didn’t know anything about fashion so he needed to not butt into conversations. And number two: don’t eat _all_ the food like a glutton even though it’s going to be very, very good food catered by Alya’s mom. Now, Marinette didn’t tell him either of these things, but he knew already from the get-go. 

“There! How do I look?” Marinette turned in her chair, looking at him, and for the umpteenth time, he felt his breath knock out of him.

She kept it simple, but she did it in all the right ways to accentuate her features. Her freckles especially stood out. Light blush adorned her cheeks, and she wore solid black eyeliner. Mascara flirted on her eyelashes. Most noticeably, her lips were covered in pink gloss.

It made her look kissable. But most of all, she looked beautiful, just as she did without the makeup. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Marinette teased, and oh no, oh _no_ she was returning the same energy he gave her, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. But she looked so gorgeous and surely, not one woman on this planet could even compare. Not even Ladybug. 

“One could say that,” he said, swallowing. “You look gorgeous, Mari.” And it was true. He genuinely believed he was sitting in front of an angel. 

As he gazed at her (w _ith that dumb, dopey look_ ), his heart twisted and _ached_ , in a way it never has before. It almost felt like he could physically feel flower stems curling around the rapid beating of his heart.

“Thank you, Luka.” Her face turned from teasing to something more light-hearted, and there was something indescribable for a moment between them. It seemed like the only thing to fill the space between them was the sound of their beating hearts and flushed cheeks. 

It wasn’t until Marinette looked away, a smile stretching across her glossed lips, that she said, “I’ll be right back! I’m going to get dressed.” She sent him a stink eye, pointing her index finger into his chest. “And don’t eat all the beignets! I’m going to bring one as a snack, and I’ll be extra careful about eating it!”

He waited for her, before scampering up her steps so he could look at the cork board hanging above her bed. He noticed that where she had taken down the picture of Adrien was now replaced with another picture. In fact, he was pretty sure the entire cork board was re-done. 

There were more pictures of Kitty Section, one with all their masks off. One didn’t even have Marinette in it either; it was taken during their rehearsal, when they were performing outside of their outfits. There were pictures of Marinette and Kagami, which was a nice development as Kagami and Adrien were a… thing? Alya still had her rightful pictures on the board, as all best friends did. He noticed fondly that there were even pictures of him and her together, and even more, that there was a picture of just him playing the guitar on his bed. 

As he saw that picture, his heart rolled around in happiness. He didn’t even know when the picture was taken, but it made him inexplicably shy to see that she had taken a picture of him. He felt a grin overcome him, and it felt like a warm blanket was just wrapped around him. 

There was no feeling of sickness to accompany it this time, just the sensation of warmth and happiness. And somehow, it almost felt like the stems that curled around in his chest were loosening up.

(Maybe it was an optimistic, foolish thought.)

When Marinette came into the room, her bare feet pounding against the floor, he turned–and his jaw dropped _again_ for the nth time. And he wasn’t even embarrassed to admit it because _goddamn._

The sketch was one thing, but the execution was absolutely flawless. It was extremely similar to the sketch, except this time he could see the gold detailing that went into the suspenders part of what he assumed was a ‘pinafore’ skirt. The golden roses were similar to his own, as a matter of fact. And the frilly button-up she was wearing had gold detailing on the cuffs, too. They were _matching,_ just like she wanted them to. 

Marinette looked absolutely stunning. And his heart was leaping everywhere in his chest, and he’s pretty sure if he didn’t close his mouth he was going to–

“You’re going to catch flies like that, _darling_ ,” she said, throwing his own words back at him. She took a stride over, closing his own jaw, and _uh oh_. There was something satisfying about shy, blushy Marinette who stammered over her words, but confident Marinette with her tongue-in-cheek words was a force to be reckoned with. 

“You’re... you’re beautiful Mari,” he whispered, and he put his palm on her cheek, just like before. From here, he could really see her freckles, spotted across her face like a _ladybug_. His stomach hurt a little bit–an ache that reminded him _yeah, you love her_. He swallowed it down–he could deal with it later. 

Right now, he focused on the girl in front of him. 

Something so delicate fluttered across Marinette’s face, and he wanted to burn it into his memory like a brand. If he could have her looking like that forever, raw and open like this, he would. Because he knew there was something she hid away from the world, something he didn’t know about, something _no one_ knew about. He wasn’t sure what it was, and he wasn’t the one to pry. But here, cradled in his hand, was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. This was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and that was all he wanted. 

“You’re too sweet.” Marinette’s words were barely more than a breath, her blue eyes sparkling. Their shared breath was an intimacy he didn’t know he needed. They were so close to each other, he could _kiss_ her if he wanted to. 

(There were flowers, rising in the back of his throat. And he swallowed them down, telling his heart and his lungs and his stomach, _please, not now_. And they listened, with bated breath.)

The noise of an alarm broke them apart, Luka straightening out his collar and Marinette sputtering out something about how it was time to go. She grabbed the last two beignets, shoving one in her mouth and giving the other one back to him. She slipped into her shoes–black heels with a gold buckle around her ankle. She searched for her purse too, one that looked like her normal pink one except this time black. 

“Ready?” she asked, holding out her hand. 

And this time, it was his time to grab onto her. 

  
  
  


The fashion show was crazy. He knew they always wore bold statements, as that was the whole point, but really? Eyeliner that reached the hairline? Luka whispered something about a raccoon, and Marinette’s face almost exploded from having to keep in a laugh. It kept like that for the entire show, Luka sliding over comments and jokes to see if he could make her laugh. He was sure that she probably popped a brain cell from having to hold it in. 

The after party was located at none other than Mayor Bourgeois’s hotel, the first floor filled with mingling designers and models. As he and Marinette walked up, he couldn’t help but feel nervous. He felt like out of everyone, he was the one person who didn’t fit in. He wasn’t a model, or a designer like Marinette, or even a celebrity. Just a local boy with a love for the guitar. However, Marinette, as if reading his mind, squeezed his arm from where she held onto and smiled reassuringly at him. 

As they entered, he already took notice of famous designers, ranging from Gabriel Agreste to… well, he didn’t really know the names, but he knew there were a lot of famous ones here. And famous people in general, like Clara Nightingale. It made him nervous. 

“We need to mingle,” Marinette said.

“I feel like I’m on some spy mission, Mari. Like, an ultra secret spy mission where I speak into the bluetooth,” Luka said, taking in the fancy attire. Sure, he had been to parties where people dressed formally, but not where people’s clothes cost more than his entire houseboat. 

The bluenette made a noise sounding like a walkie-talkie, pressing her fingers into her ear as if she had a bluetooth in. “ _Kshct._ Dupain-Cheng in. Target not spotted. I suspect that the target is getting drunk off the punch.”

Luka stifled a laugh, mimicking her movements before responding. “ _Kscht_. Couffaine. The target is not drinking the punch. Target is going ham on the deviled eggs like there is no tomorrow.”

Marinette hid a giggle behind her sleeve, but immediately straightened when she looked to the left. His head turned, and he saw Adrien, heading their way. 

The model boy sauntered over, his walk refined and probably practiced knowing the strictness of his father. He wore a simple black suit, more formally dressed than anyone (probably because he had an image to uphold as an Agreste). Formerly, he was on the runway, wearing lipstick and purple eyeshadow, but now his face was bare of any type of makeup. 

“Marinette! Luka! I’m happy to see you two.” They all exchanged cheek kisses in greeting, and when Luka glanced over at Marinette, her cheeks weren’t red at all. No, the only red on her face was from the blush she applied earlier. Before, he knew she would just combust from the greeting. 

“Hey Adrien,” Luka greeted back smoothly. A knot of nerves suddenly burst in his stomach, and combined with a healthy dose of gladioli, he felt pretty fucking nervous for no reason. Because Adrien _was_ his friend too, but _still._ He supposed something in him felt like he needed to be better–and how could he ever hope to even live up to being like _him_? 

Marinette squeezed his arm again, and suddenly, that thought disappeared, melting away into the back of his mind. 

“Hi Adrien! You looked great on the runway,” Marinette complimented.

“Thanks Mar!” _Mar._ That was a new one. “Not the typical makeup look but,” Adrien shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “It works.”

“Is Kagami here?” Marinette asked, her head swiveling around to look for her. “I’d love to talk to her!”

“Ah, no. She couldn’t make it. She had something to do with her mom. So I’m just mingling at the moment before Chloe comes and finds me as always.” 

Marinette and Luka nodded, and honestly? Luka could see _why_ she liked him. He exuded charisma and friendliness. But he wondered just how much was actually Adrien, and how much of it was the image that he was supposed to front. However, they were all friends, so maybe there was no front at all. 

“Well, good luck with Chloe, Adrien. If you ever feel suffocated, come find us!” Marinette joked, but Adrien laughed. They shared another cheek kiss as a farewell to each other, Adrien off to go find his father. 

When it was clear that he was gone, Luka whisper-shouted, “Marinette!” He spun her around and held onto her shoulders, grinning proudly at her. “You didn’t stutter!”

Her mouth parted in shock, and she blinked confusedly before pressing her hand against her mouth in excitement. “I didn’t? Oh my god, I didn’t, didn’t I?”

Before he could stop himself, he pulled her into a tight hug. The smell of flowers and honey encompassed him, and for a moment, he felt his knees almost give out. For sure he thought he might have collapsed then and there before regaining his senses. He felt her wrap her tiny arms around his waist, and he was sure if he could die here, he would, and he’d be happy.

“Luka,” Marinette finally said shyly, and he pulled away immediately, remembering they were at a formal event. Right. 

“Sorry, I just… I’m proud of you Mari.”

She grabbed hold of his arm instead, giving a grateful, beaming smile before leading them over to the refreshments. His heart fluttered as he watched her hair bounce up and down. 

“No pastries tonight, Luka. Actual food!” she said, popping a… what even was that? He took a bite of whatever it was that she was eating and was pleasantly surprised at the savoriness of the bite sized meal. He grabbed another one, doing a mini toast with her own serving, before popping it in his mouth. 

_Another_ voice interrupted their snacking time, and Luka internally groaned–please, for the love of god, let him eat without getting interrupted. But he schooled a neutral expression (he does that a lot), before turning around. 

“Well if it isn’t Dupain-Cheng,” None other than Chloe Bourgeois jeered, and Marinette swallowed, wiping her hands on a napkin and turning. Chloe’s nose was turned high into the air, pompous. She _still_ hasn’t changed, not from when Luka stood in front of Juleka and called her out for being a bully. (She never got in trouble. Pros to being the mayor’s daughter who has everyone feeding from the palm of his hand.)

“Chloe,” Marinette muttered briskly, but not necessarily unkindly. “You looked good out there, on the runway.” Luka shuffled through the memories of models strutting down the runway but he couldn’t quite remember her even being up there. Maybe her outfit was insignificant. Or maybe it was her that made it insignificant. Was that mean?

“Of course I do! Gabriel wouldn’t let me walk on the runway for nothing, Dupain-Cheng. And I see you brought… an edgy rockstar with you. Dressed nicely, finally.”

“It’s my design.”

“Is it? Well then it looks horrendous.”

Luka let out a small eye roll, but he was past getting angry at Chloe. He paid his time years ago when he made her cry on the playground.

“Thanks. If you commission me I’ll make you a skirt just like this!” Marinette teased, and the blond harrumphed (who even does that?) and crossed her arms. 

“In your dreams. I could have someone better make it for me, and without your horrendous signature too!” She told him about this one too–Chloe tried stealing Marinette’s bowler hat design, but she had secretly sewn her own signature into the hat that was imperceptible if you didn’t know where to look. That must’ve been hilarious to see in real life. 

(Okay, so maybe that one experience of meeting Chloe when she shoved his sister still made him a _little_ angry.) 

“Alright, whatever you say. My commissions are open now though, so don’t be shy!” Chloe rolled her eyes, huffed, and all but stomped away, muttering about finding _mommy_. 

“She’s trying,” Marinette said, voicing his thoughts out loud. “And I have to commend her for it. After what happened with Ladybug... I think it struck a chord in her and _something_ changed.”

Luka could only nod in response. He understood that. After Queen’s Battle, Chloe revealed all of the Miraculous holders, including him. And while most, if not all of Paris wasn’t even present to see it, she revealed everyone’s identities to Hawkmoth. And Ladybug publicly condemned her. It was horrible, and although it was hard to even remember what happened, he knew that afterwards, Chloe took it hard. Especially from Paris’s citizens. 

He opened his mouth to say something else, but he only managed the first word before he felt a sudden vibrating underneath his feet. 

The crowd went silent as the tremor intensified. 

“Do you feel that?” he asked, but it was a stupid question. Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed, but before she could say anything, the ground shook tremendously, causing him and everyone else in the building to get thrown to their feet. 

It felt like an earthquake, but any resident in Paris understood what it meant. An akuma.

Everyone waited with bated breath, looking at each other anxiously. When he glanced at Marinette, she didn’t look scared. She looked… she looked rather _inconvenienced_. And he wasn’t sure if that was her typical response to these things. 

The akuma, no more than five minutes since the vibrations started, barreled through the door. 

She looked… odd, but he supposed all akumas did. It looked like she belonged to a museum, like the Louvre. She wore a cream tunic, flowers and vines clinging to every inch of her body. Her skin was a pale green color, and when he squinted, he could see that her face had splotches of tiny white daisies as if they were freckles. In one of her hands, she held what appeared to be a watering can, like one for a garden. It too had flowers wrapped around it and seemed to be _attached_ to her arm. He didn’t want to think about what it could do. 

“Where is she? Where is my love?” the akuma shrieked, and her voice sent a cascade of vibrations through the building. He braced himself against the floor as it sent unpleasant shivers down his spine. 

“Who?” someone on the floor asked, and Luka wanted to bang his head on the carpeted. Why, oh why, would someone ask that? Do they _want_ a death sentence?

“ _Annabelle!_ Where is she?” The akuma screamed again, and there seemed to be murmurs of disagreement among everyone. 

“She’s not here! She went home!” Someone finally answered, and the akuma cackled cruelly. She outstretched her hand, the one where the watering can was attached to. From the spout of it, vines shot out, and as soon as it touched the nearest people around her, they disappeared in a cloud of pollen. What replaced them was a flower. 

Everyone screamed and scrambled to get up. He took it upon himself to get up. Marinette was quicker than he was, grabbing his hand. With a sudden fire in her eyes, she dragged him into the kitchen. It smelled of freshly cooked food and a mixture of spices that made his mouth water, but he was a bit more preoccupied with whatever the hell was going on out there. 

“The akuma is still out there,” Marinette said. “But it’s probably going to go after the larger crowd, so it’ll either go outside or upstairs. We can hide out here.” She pointed at a storage closet. He couldn’t disagree with her logic, so he nodded slowly. They crept towards the storage closet and found themselves next to some buckets and mops. 

“I can’t believe an akuma crashed the after party,” Luka whispered. “I don’t think we had our minds set on the right target.”

Marinette’s sharp inhale indicated she laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think so either. Hopefully Chat Noir gets on the scene soon.”

“And Ladybug,” he added. 

There were several moments of silence and the occasional tremor that shook the entire closet room. He dusted off his shirt, a little miffed that he got dirt on such a pretty shirt. It could probably be hand washed–

“I have to use the bathroom,” Marinette whispered. 

“What?” Luka asked, baffled. She didn’t say that she needed to use the bathroom... right? 

“I drank too much punch. Just stay here and I’ll be right back. Maybe I can find Ladybug, too.” Right–when his mom was akumatized, it was _Marinette_ that had found Ladybug and given her the alert about the akuma. 

(Something was flickering inside his brain. He wasn’t sure what, but it flickered, as if it needed attention. But it was too far away to reach, so he brushed it aside in favor of focusing on his current situation.)

“You can’t hold it?” he asked, but the girl’s faint silhouette was already doing the I-need-to-pee-right-now dance. He sighed in resignation, his feelings of anxiety shooting through the roof. 

And then he decided to act purely on impulse. 

Luka grabbed Marinette, looking at her dead in the eyes, before he reached up behind her head and gently tipped her head forwards. With his other hand, he cradled her jaw. He was slow and careful, to make sure she knew she was allowed to back out at any point. When he didn’t feel her back out, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, affectionate and _loving._ And for some reason he felt all of his emotions pour out into one single forehead kiss. When he pulled back (she smelled so good, like honey and sweetness and everything nice), she stared at him with wide eyes and rosy cheeks. She was beautiful like this, in the dull lighting of the closet room. 

“Be safe okay? Please. I’ll be right here when you come back. Just come back to me as… not a flower,” he said. And he held out his pinkie finger. He felt stupid because Ladybug and Chat Noir _never_ failed to repair things, so even if she did turn into a flower it would be fine. But a feeling of powerlessness twisted his insides as he thought about defenseless Marinette turning into some sort of gladiolus. 

(The thought of her turning into a gladiolus was something poetic and beautiful. But to him, it was terrifying and suffocating to even think about.)

Marinette took his pinky with hers, crossing it. 

“I promise.” And to his surprise, she took her hands and grabbed him by both sides of his face, tipping his head forward and pressing a chaste forehead kiss of her own. She ran out of the door before he could say anything more. 

Twenty minutes then passed, the clock on his phone ticking down every minute. Each second wore him down as he tried to avoid images of Marinette screaming, helpless as she turned into some plant. 

Luka’s gut curled with worry. Every bone in his body was screaming that everything was _wrong._ Eventually, he made up his mind–he needed to find her. 

When he opened the door to the closet, a figure greeted him from the swinging kitchen doors. It wasn’t Marinette, unfortunately. Rather, it was Ladybug, walking towards him with a tight lipped expression. 

“Luka, I need your help,” Ladybug said. Something about her voice was so… familiar, but he ignored it. _Probably because she’s a superhero, dumbass,_ he thought to himself. “The akuma is difficult for me and Chat Noir to fight. We can’t seem to get to her no matter what. I need you.”

Luka hesitated, biting his lip. He knew that Hawkmoth was aware of his identity, so he said, “But after Queen’s Battle…”

She raised her hand, cutting him off. “I know your identity was revealed to Hawkmoth. But Miraculous magic is designed to hide the identity of the owner no matter what. You just have to _look_ different, and he’ll think you’re a new superhero.” The explanation made sense. Because he was sure that if he saw Ladybug in real life, he would know that it was her, but if there’s magic involved, then that was an entirely different story. 

She didn’t wait for a response from him. “Luka Couffaine,” she said, holding out a familiar black and red box. “Here is the Miraculous of the Snake, which grants the power of Second Chance. You will use it for the greater good, and when the job is done, you will return the Miraculous to me. Can I trust you?” 

Luka made a sound of affirmation, before opening the box and sliding on the bracelet. Sass greeted him happily. He explained quickly that all he had to do was imagine he was a different superhero, and a different superhero he will be. 

“Sass, scales slither!”

When he transformed, he thought about a completely new suit, this time consisting of mostly black with accents of teal. He envisioned his hair was different too, this time. When he finished transforming, he saw that his suit was almost entirely black, and that there were random patches of teal scales running along his thighs and wrists. Examining one lock of hair showed him his hair was practically black now. 

“Not bad,” Ladybug said appreciatively, eyeing him up and down. “You need a new name.”

“Would it be bad if I said Viper?” he asked, because honestly, he did not have the mental space to come up with an entirely new, cool name. Besides, he liked Viperion.

Ladybug shrugged. “I don’t think so. But we have to go now. I left Chat Noir to fight her while I could get you.” But before she could burst into her run, he grabbed her wrist. She looked at him inquisitively. 

“Wait, did you see Marinette? She was supposed to use the bathroom, and she never came back. If she turned into a flower I…” he drawled off, not wanting to think about it. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he found out that something happened to her and he wasn’t there. 

Ladybug smiled at him. “She’s safe. She found me and alerted me to the akuma, and I made her relocate. I had a feeling I’d need you, Viper, which is why I didn’t come find you until a little afterwards. Call it lady’s intuition!” She winked at him, and something was just so familiar about it. His heart panged, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. 

They ran into the roof, Ladybug relaying information to him quickly. The akuma’s name was Flora, and the akumatized object was in the watering can. That much was obvious. But it was attached to Flora’s hand by the vines, so they couldn’t quite get her to let it go. They deduced that they’d need Chat Noir’s cataclysm, they just haven’t gotten quite close to her yet. 

When Chat Noir saw them, he did a nice little backflip away from Flora, landing next to them. Flora shrieked, but Viper planted his feet firmly into the wooden floorboards to prevent from being tossed over. 

“Milady! And ooh, who is this?” 

“Uh, I’m Viper.” 

“Nice to meet you Viper! Welcome–“ Chat Noir spun his baton, a barrage of seeds flying towards them from the holes in the watering can. Viper flinched. “–to the team!” Chat Noir finished. 

Viper sent a weak smile. Ladybug gave him The Look (trademarked), and he activated his Second Chance. Something about the power made him feel sick. Because for the next five minutes, he could do anything and everything and there wouldn’t be repercussions because he could just… go back. He could totally just rip off the Miraculouses off of Chat Noir and Ladybug and figure out their identities, and just go back in time and act like nothing would happen. He wouldn’t, but… hypothetically. He could. 

It was odd, the way Ladybug trusted him with the Miraculous. Because how could she know if he’s trustworthy, when they only had a few chance encounters?

He was pulled back to attention once Chat Noir leaped backwards, using his knee and hand to drag along the wood to make him come to a stop. Ladybug started swinging her yo-yo, the object highlighted by neon pink. 

“Viper, stay back! We need you just in case!” Ladybug shouted, and the duo sprinted towards Flora. The purple outline of Hawkmoth’s mask appeared on her face, and a snarl curled across her lips.

Ladybug swung her yo-yo, wrapping it around Flora to restrict her arm movement as Chat Noir activated his cataclysm. However, before he could even come into close proximity with it, the vines shot out from the watering can. Chat Noir poofed into a shower of golden pollen before reappearing as a white rose. 

“Second Chance!”

He was pulled back to attention once Chat Noir leaped backwards, using his knee and hand to drag along the wood to make him come to a stop. Ladybug started swinging her yo-yo, the object highlighted by neon pink. 

Before Ladybug could even say his name, Viper interrupted her with the new information. 

“It won’t work if Ladybug tries to wrap her yo-yo around Flora. The watering can will shoot vines out and poof Chat Noir into a flower.” The duo seemed to intake the new information, before making a plan without even having to say anything to each other. 

Chat Noir jumped high into the air (pros of being a superhero) and swung his baton, but then flowers wrapped around his baton and threw it far, far away. Viper could almost see the baton twinkle like it does in cartoons. 

“I just want my Annabell to love me back!” Flora bawled, and for the first time, he saw that she was crying, white tears running down her face. 

Something sickly soon began to flood his senses. But he shoved the thought aside, and then Ladybug was suddenly _smashed_ onto her back. She let out a pained gasp, some of her limbs going limp. Flora’s dark vines wrapped around her waist and _squeezed_. 

“Second Chance!”

He was pulled back to attention once Chat Noir leaped backwards, using his knee and hand to drag along the wood to make him come to a stop. Ladybug started swinging her yo-yo, the object highlighted by neon pink. 

Before Ladybug could even say his name, Viper interrupted her with the new (newer?) information. 

“I think we need your Lucky Charm,” he said. Ladybug pursed her lips in thought, before she shrugged and summoned her Lucky Charm with a shout. The object that fell into her hands was… a picture. A picture of two young women. One was a fair-skinned girl with long, black hair, smiling dazzlingly at the camera. The other one was a brunette, with blond strands of hair framing her face. She looked strikingly like Flora. They had their arms wrapped around each other. 

“A picture,” Ladybug said, confused. “I don’t… I don’t see anything.” The trio leapt apart as a tendril slashed against the ground, causing cracks to form along the wood. 

“Bugaboo, you better think quick!” Chat Noir shouted, and Ladybug seemed like she was in a crisis. Her eyes darted frantically around. 

“I don’t see it! Chat Noir, _I don’t see it!_ ” she called out, desperately. There were edges to her voice, sharp as glass as her eyes bounced around. 

(Viper couldn’t help but wonder–what was it like? Being a superhero, having to shoulder the burden of thousands of lives in Paris? Of the whole _world_ , even? And what was it like, to be presented with an akuma, and not know what to do?)

“Show me where Annabell is! She’s the reason for this! She’s the reason why I’m like this!” Viper rolled into a somersault to avoid the onslaught of seeds coming his way and–

Seeds. He rolled into a somersault to avoid the onslaught of _seeds_ coming his way. 

_She’s the reason why I'm like this._

Viper suddenly understood why Flora _was_ Flora. Why she was akumatized. Why her powers were centered around flowers and vines and nature, why she yearned for a woman named Annabell. And he knew, because he was in the spot that she was in. 

“Second Chance.”

He was pulled back to attention once Chat Noir leaped backwards, using his knee and hand to drag along the wood to make him come to a stop. Ladybug started swinging her yo-yo, the object highlighted by neon pink. 

Before Ladybug could even say his name, Viper held out a hand in front of him, cutting her off. 

“I know what to do.”

They awaited for his news on his plan. Ladybug’s yo-yo swung expectedly, as well as Chat Noir’s baton. He began to inform them of the plan. 

All they had to do was protect him, he told them. They were _confused,_ but he was certain this would work. And if not–well, he still had an unlimited time to use his Second Chance. So, really, he had all the time in the world to get this right. He set down his lyre. 

“Flora! I know you’re hurting from this!” Viper said, and the akuma could only at howl him. As he walked towards her, he could see the shine of her face as she sobbed. 

(There was one thing that was clear. Hawkmoth was one cruel bastard for capitalizing on people’s emotions like this.)

“How could you possibly know how I’m feeling, _superhero?_ ” The butterfly mask appeared on her face, and she muttered something before it went away again. The akuma glared at him, but there was so much despair and misery written in her eyes. He knew exactly how that felt–he saw that, whenever he had to stare at his pallid expression after he threw up. He knew what she was going through. 

But he understood what she was saying, too. To all the citizens of Paris, superheroes were unattainable. Hard to reach. All they were were just a bunch of saviors who fought evil and disappeared. The only personality they had were the superhero facades. So, he knew he couldn’t talk to her as Viper. 

He needed to talk to her as _Luka_. 

Luka dodged the vine flying straight towards him. Ladybug swung her yo-yo at it, and it retracted away back inside the watering can. “You’re angry because Annabell doesn’t love you, and you’re angry because you’re suffering the consequences. You’re sad because you can’t be _better_.” Flora sent more tiny seeds at him, Chat Noir spinning his baton in front of him to deflect them back. Flora ran to the side, but she seemed interested in what Luka was saying. 

“You... you know?” Flora asked curiously. 

“I know because I'm _living_ it, Flora. You want Annabell to love you back but you want to respect her. But now you’re suffering, and it feels like the whole world is against you. I _understand.”_

As the trio approached, the glass giving way for their footsteps, Flora seemed to actually listen. Her attacks were just as harsh, but now she seemed focused on what he was saying. On what _Luka_ was saying. Not what Viper was saying, not what a superhero was telling her. What a normal, average day citizen would have to say.

“You’re scared, Flora. But this isn’t the way to do it.”

“How could you possibly know the way to do it? You wouldn’t know what it’s like. _You’re a hero_.” But it seemed more like Hawkmoth was talking through her, judging from her faltering expression. 

“I’m no hero under the mask,” Luka said, and he nudged Ladybug to activate her Lucky Charm. The polaroid fell into her hands, but he grabbed it from her before she could express any confusion. 

He got close enough where he could hold out the picture. Flora frowned at it, and the attacks only got worse. But he was focused, confident in his teammates’ abilities to protect him and let him talk. But he needed to act fast, with Ladybug now only having five minutes.

“Hold out for me,” he said under his breath, but Chat Noir and Ladybug didn’t respond, attentive to ward off anything as he spoke to her. 

“Look.” 

Luka summoned all the nausea that’s been sitting on the back burner, and with a barely suppressed gag, he held out his hand in front of his mouth and spit out the petals. They were fragile and delicate in his hand, covered in strings of saliva. 

For a second, the world seemed to go silent, with him and his saliva soaked flowers just resting in the palm of his hand. Flora looked between him and the photograph. 

“I know you love her,” Luka said, reaching out and giving her the photograph. She took it, her eyebrows furrowed with anger and sadness and _everything_ that he saw in himself. The butterfly outline showed up again, but she closed her eyes and somehow seemed to _ignore_ it. 

Luka continued. “But you can’t steal her away from the world for your benefit. You can’t. And you can’t force her to love you either. And it’s not fair and it _sucks._ ” He threw the flowers on the ground, wiping his hand off on his suit. “This disease is bullshit. But that’s just how it is. And I wish, Flora, that I could tell you differently but that’s the way of human emotion. _This isn’t what love is._ Don’t do this to yourself.”

Flora collapsed onto the ground, and it suddenly hit Luka that she wouldn’t remember this afterwards. She extended her arm out, the one holding the watering can. A defeated look was written across her face. 

Chat Noir stepped up, finally activating his cataclysm and destroying it. The akuma was released, Flora turning back into her normal self. She looked bewildered, like all victims did. 

Ladybug didn’t say anything, not even her signature, “It’s time to de-evilize!” Instead, she had this distant, far away look. Chat Noir had the same expression, except he leaned more towards _pity_ than anything. Well, he didn’t need _pity._ He thought that the pitying looks he sometimes received from Maman and Juleka were enough pity to last a fucking lifetime. 

Ladybug was about to transform back, so she told him to wait for her in the storage closet. Chat Noir didn’t leave with any witty remarks, just a look of apology as he helped Flora stand up. She seemed bewildered, and Chat Noir handed her a card–some sort of therapy for akumatized victims. He took that as his cue to head out. 

He de-transformed in the storage closet, seeing that Marinette hadn’t returned. He wasn’t surprised–Ladybug told her to go somewhere else, so she probably listened. 

Eventually, probably about ten minutes later, Ladybug knocked on the door. He held out the Miraculous inside the box, waving a little goodbye to Sass. He knew she was going to say something about what happened minutes prior, so he waited. 

“It’s Marinette, isn’t it?” Ladybug finally asked, and he _froze_. 

“How do you know about that?” he asked, no, he _demanded._ A wall of defenses suddenly rose around his heart, clutching it as if it could protect him. 

(But there were already stems and flowers there, protecting his heart from loving anyone else.)

Ladybug slipped the box into... well, he really doesn’t know where she put it. Probably in some kwami-magic compartment of sorts in her yo-yo or something. But she put her hands on his shoulders. 

Maybe it was a weird observation, but he noticed that she was so much _shorter_ than him. In fact, looking at her now, his heart softened. Not in the way it does for Marinette, but more out of _sympathy._ Because she looked just like a kid. In fact, she definitely looked just like a kid, her eyes too innocent and her cheeks too round. This wasn’t an adult defending Paris. This was a kid who was scared and alone just like him. 

“You’ve talked about her before in the times I’ve met you, Luka. Maybe you should talk to her. This... this isn’t something you should burden alone.” 

“It’s not exactly something you can bring up to someone.”

She looked at the floor, before looking back at him. Her eyes were baby blue, like… like?

(A fog brushed over his thoughts, and the thought of exactly what her eyes looked like quickly ran away from him.)

“Talk to her, Luka. I brought her back home. _Please_. Bug out.” And just like that, Ladybug swung out of existence. He wondered why she sounded like that. She sounded _sad_ and _desperate_. 

He needed to get to Marinette. 

As his feet pounded against the sidewalk to reach the Dupain-Cheng bakery, his mind whirled with thoughts. There was something about Ladybug that was so familiar, but so far away. It was like he had two puzzle pieces, and they fit together. But he wasn’t sure what the other puzzle piece looked like so it didn’t really help him at all. And sure, it made sense for Chat Noir and Ladybug to be sad for him–who wouldn’t be? He’s a stupid teenager who had fallen stupidly in love. But there was something so misplaced about their sadness. Like the two of them had something to say to him but they couldn’t find the words, like their sadness reached beyond who they were as _Ladybug and Chat Noir..._

But rather reached who they were behind the masks. 

Another puzzle piece was added. His mind sluggishly tried to keep up with him. Buildings flew past him at a fast rate. 

There was something. There was something behind the two of the superheroes’ eyes when he spit those pink gladiolus petals into his hand. 

Before he even registered it, Luka reached the bakery. Sabine and Tom were closing up shop, and they quickly gestured upstairs, understanding that Marinette was upstairs and not at the hotel where she was supposed to be. 

He ran upstairs, and saw her worriedly pacing the room. Upon his steps, she turned and widened her eyes. 

“Luka! I–“

He immediately threw his arms around her, burying his head in the crook of her neck. She was so tiny, so it must’ve looked a little weird with his back hunched over, but he couldn’t help it. Her scent of honey lulled his buzzed nerves into a calm, rhythmatic thrum. 

She made a squeak in response, but soon after, hugged him back just as tightly. She was small like this, wrapped in his arms. Sometimes he admired her for her strength and tenacity, but here like this, she was just like him-a kid, scared of a growing world. 

(Another piece connected in his mind. At this point his mind was in limbo, connecting pieces that he didn’t really even know needed connecting.)

“You took so long,” Luka whispered, and it came out ravaged, like he took a beating over and over again. He did, he supposed. In a way. “I was scared that you… that you turned into something.”

“Oh Luka… I’m fine. I promise. The punch really got to me, but Ladybug found me afterwards and brought me home. She said she’d bring you here but… that was a long time ago.”

Luka paused, mulling over her words. His memories flickered over the night. He recalled the fashion show, where he told some joke and she would snicker and giggle from her seat, turning red from holding it in. He recalled the afterparty, where they talked to Adrien and Chloe. And he recalled approaching the table of refreshments. Marinette took a bite of something that he didn’t know the name of. _Marinette took a bite of something_. She didn’t drink the punch. 

He leaned back to look at her. Her hair was down her shoulders, bouncy waves of dark blue. He gazed at her and gingerly combed the hair behind her ears. Something caught his eye–the pair of grey earrings. She always wore those, he noticed. She always did. Even if they didn’t match her outfit. 

But wouldn’t someone like her, who emphasized so much on how they needed to match together, want her earrings to match with her outfit?

Something clicked. Her dark blue hair, her grey earrings. Her dark blue hair in pigtails, her grey earrings. Her excuse that she needed to pee, but that wasn’t what she did, was it? And now that he thought about it… when had he talked about Marinette to Ladybug besides when he called her brave? _Why did Ladybug trust him with such a Miraculous?_

The fog lifted, and suddenly he saw it clearer. 

_Marinette was Ladybug_.

“Marinette. We need to talk.”

Luka kept up his guard as they climbed up to Marinette’s balcony. It wasn’t too late, as the sun had just disappeared below the horizon. There was a silence that nestled between them, and he wasn’t sure to describe it besides that it was _suffocating_. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes between them yet somehow was so, so _quiet_.

He wasn’t even sure what to say. Like: _Hey, Marinette, sorry but I kind of caught feelings for you, and you know that already, but what you don’t know is I accidentally fell in love with you and now my life has a timer that I can't even see._ Like wow, way to put it out there, Couffaine. Or maybe he could say: _Hey Marinette, you definitely know I have Hanahaki now, because you’re Ladybug and Ladybug saw me spit out flowers, and I’m oh so very sorry but I’m in love with you._

_I am in love with you._

Maybe he could just go home. Call it a day. 

The coolness of the Parisian day soaked his bones, and he relished in the feeling. He worked on autopilot as they both sat down on her sun chair, knee to knee. 

“I know you know,” Luka said, and wow, that was quite literally the _worst_ way he could’ve started the conversation. But he didn’t need to tell her that he had Hanahaki because she knew. She knew because she was Ladybug. 

“Luka... what do I know?” She sounded flabbergasted, and her worried expression tugged at his heartstrings. He took a deep breath, turning away from her and looking at the evening sky. It was getting to the moody shade of blue, the stars starting to come out with small flickers of light. The moon was rising. It was a beautiful night, no cloud in the sky. Just them and the moon and the stars. 

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise Mari. But I know you saw me spit out the flowers earlier.” 

“What… what flowers?” Her voice sounded increasingly panicked. How was she able to pull this off for so long without _anyone_ noticing?

“You don’t have to act with me, Mari. You never had to. I know you’re Ladybug. It’s okay. And you know I would never tell anyone.” 

He wasn’t sure how to reassure himself or her that it really was okay. Because if he got akumatized, something could happen to Marinette. And not only that, he knew the strict policy of ‘no identity reveal _until_ Hawkmoth was defeated.’

She looked at him, about to protest the accusation, before her walls began to fall down. _That_ was the missing chorus to her song. That was what she hid away. And now she knew what he hid away, too. 

“I don’t… we can talk about Ladybug later. I don’t think that’s what’s really important right now. I mean, it’s important, but not as much as this. Not to me. I didn’t know you had it, Luka. The disease.” She sounded so, so haggard. And this was what he wanted to avoid. He didn’t want to make her sad. It hurt him enough when she sobbed in his arms, her hands pressed into her eyes. But this? This wasn’t something he wanted her to know. 

“I didn’t want you to know. And besides... what would you have done? Forced yourself to love me back?” He laughed but it tasted like acid. He swallowed, and looked at her. His fingers _itched–_ it would be easier to explain through then notes from his guitar, but this was _her_ form of communication. And so let it be his. 

“I fell in love with you, Mari. I tried not to. I really tried. But everything about you is just so captivating, I couldn’t help myself. And that’s not your fault at all. It’s just who you are. And to make this clear: I don’t blame you for any of it. I _love_ you. And I know this is unfair because you’re still trying to recover from your feelings with Adrien. But I’m hurting too, and I’m so fucking in love with you that I don’t even know what to do with myself.” 

And just like that moment with Juleka, his emotions were spilling all over the place. He looked at her desperately. He didn’t need her to love him back. He'd rather die than make Marinette feel false things. 

She opened her mouth, but he quickly hushed her by putting his finger on her lips. “No, let me speak, please. Marinette, I _tried._ I tried so hard not to fall in love with you ever since I met you, even before this whole disease came about. I tried seeing other girls, I tried seeing other guys and none of it worked. All I had in my head was _you_. All I could ever want was your blue eyes and your dark hair. All I could ever want was your unwavering bravery and strength. All I could ever want was your smile, your laugh, your everything. I just wanted you.” 

Luka barely registered the gag rising up in his throat before he lurched over the side and threw up on her balcony. Oh god, that was _embarrassing._ It was just _petals_ and _seeds_ and his regurgitated feelings for this wonderful girl. Just gladioli covered in the blood from his throat, just seeds that were too whole. Just feelings that were being unveiled, with no plan or thought. 

Marinette looked at him in horror, but he had to keep going. 

“I think about you, and my head swims and it feels like I’m on cloud nine. There is just something so special about you that made me fall in love with you. And I never knew what it was, but I think now I know that it’s _all of you_. You’re the song I can’t get out of my head. I wouldn’t _want_ to get you out of my head. And Mari, I’m so fucking scared. I’m scared because my doctor told me that he can’t even predict how much long I have left to live. I’m scared, because there’s so much more I have to see. And I’m terrified because I know you’re not going to be by my side, and I’m terrified because I’m not going to be by your side either if I’m six feet under.”

The stars twinkled overhead. He took a deep breath, in and out, waiting for her response. He just dropped the biggest bomb on this poor girl, and she definitely didn’t ask for the emotional overload. 

“Luka… I… I’m sorry.” His tears caught in his throat, a white hot ball of exhaustion and hopelessness. “I’m sorry that you’ve been dealing with this for so long. I am so sorry.”

She looked at him, with wobbly eyes and a quivering lip. But she seemed adamant on not crying, blinking her tears away. 

There was another moment of silence.

Finally, she said, “When I said I was moving on from Adrien, I meant it. I stopped holding a grudge against Kagami, and I stopped with all those weird… schemes, I guess. And I tried to focus on myself–and I did. I worked on my designs, my baking, I even got to play games with my dad. But when I did that I didn’t realize I needed someone there for me. With everything going on with Lila, and just everything going on in Paris–I had enough, and for once I wanted to be alone. But then, there you were, always asking me if I was okay.”

Marinette looked away, biting her lip, before continuing. 

“And I know I haven’t treated you the best. Even as a friend, it was awful of me to _use_ you when we went ice skating, and it was awful to disregard you when Desperada happened. Because you don’t deserve that, not at all. I shouldn’t have made you to be one of my tools to get what I wanted back then.”

“Yeah, but I was there for you just for a casual outing–“ he weakly protested. But he was reminded of the flood gates opening, of the dam breaking, and he shut his mouth just to hear what she had to say. 

“Luka. I know I’m not perfect. It wasn’t fair of me to string you along to try and get Adrien to fall for me while _knowing_ that you still liked me. And... and I know you said that if things didn’t work out between me and him, that you’d be here. And I’m grateful for that, but I don’t want you to be here _as my rebound_ , because you’re not. I just want you to be here. And I want to be here for you. And I know it took me _time_ but I’m trying to grow up and be better. I don't want to be known as that weird stalker girl who had a big fat crush on Adrien Agreste. I want to be Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

And she looked at him, then looked down at her lap. He followed her eyes down, and he saw that she was holding her pinkie out. He slowly interlocked both of their pinkies together. 

The world seemed to quiet down. For years _he_ listened to the world, to the hums and rhythms and harmonies that the world handed to him. But here right now, the world listened to them and them only. 

“And I’m not just saying this because I feel pity for you. That’d be cruel, to both me and you. I’m saying this because these are my true feelings, and I’m sorry it took me so long to untangle. If you’ll have _me_ , Luka… if you’ll have me, then you can have _me._ I don't want you to have Marinette recovering from her feelings from a boy. I don’t want you to have Marinette using you as a second choice. And god, I am so sorry that it took me so long to grow up. Do you… do you want _me_? Will you have _me_?”

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng looked at him, her blue eyes reflecting the dark night. Luka couldn’t help but wonder what things she had seen. He turned to face her, and she turned to look at him, and it suddenly felt like the world was giving way for them. Like the world finally was allowing for things in his life to finally go right. 

He put his hand on her cheek, and she leaned into it. 

His heart _wept._ The stems that had a grip on his heart and lungs and soul and mind let go. They whispered to him, _she is yours_. And it felt like he could finally breathe.

“I'll have you,” Luka whispered, and he tilted her head forward. He looked at her for permission, but Marinette’s eyes were already fluttering close. And so he leaned in, pressed his lips against hers, and listened to their songs blending together.

  
  
  
  
  


It took months for the seeds and petals to go away. Sometimes, he would wake up in a sweat, flowers filling his mouth. And he would run, run to the bathroom and throw them up. Juleka was sometimes there, holding his hair back and patting him to make sure he got rid of everything. 

Sometimes it wasn’t Juleka there. Sometimes he was at Marinette’s house, and he couldn’t even make it to the bathroom. He would just grab the nearest trash can and hurl into it, his entire body shaking and being drained of energy. 

Marinette felt awful about it, always apologizing, and he would always reassure her that it was okay. Because it was. He didn’t harbor resentment against her for that period of time when he suffered. He couldn’t. Because he couldn’t hold her accountable for his own feelings. And besides, it all worked out in the end. 

And so here he was, lying down in Marinette’s bed with his head in her lap. She was typing something in her phone with one hand, brushing her fingers through his hair with the other. He was on the phone with his doctor.

“So what were the results?” he asked, and there was a muffled sound of paperwork being flipped through. 

“Mr. Couffaine… you’re negative. You tested negative for Hanahaki. Congratulations.” 

Luka stiffened in shock, and was barely able to gargle out a “Oh… that’s cool,” before they talked about the next checkup. When he hung up, he was in disbelief. He was cleared? He had no more flowers, no more seeds? But then he looked at Marinette, who looked back down at him anxiously. And the biggest smile broke out on his face. 

“I’m cleared,” he announced excitedly, and Marinette only blinked at him before she smiled too. 

“You’re cleared?” she echoed back, and he sat up and grabbed her face and _kissed her._ He could never get tired of this, holding her face like this and feeling how soft her lips were. They sat like that for god knows how long, Luka just kissing her and kissing her because damn he was over the moon. 

No more throwing up. No more having to excuse himself from class. No more apologies from Marinette. Finally it was just him, Luka Couffaine. And that was all. 

Breathless, he finally leaned back and pressed his forehead to hers, shutting his eyes and thumbing through the dark locks of hair. He was content like this, with Marinette sitting in front of him, their breaths intermingling. 

His heart was racing, and he knew if he put his hand over her heart, it would be beating just as fast too. 

For a moment he paused, listening to his heart beat rhythmically into a beautiful song. 

And then he listened to Marinette’s song, playing loudly on loop. There were no parts missing this time, and it chimed happily in his ear. 

Luka smiled. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first published fan work that I've ever written from start to finish, so I hope you enjoy! Also, I don't know anything about fashion, so forgive me for any errors.


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